The Odyssey of Mike
by Steele S. Publishing Company
Summary: As the Champion of Hoenn, Michael Almus was a lot of things. Smart, strong, skillful, all good adjectives. Courageous? No. Fit? Hardly. Not exactly perfect mentor material. Not in Hoenn, at least. He was bored there.  But Kanto...
1. 1: Every Silver Lining has a Cloud

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. For forced couplings and cliché plot lines, I mean. I do my best to present to you something which I have not heard of when I present this story. There's a few differences that I hope you'll notice as we progress:

The first being how we begin. Not with a fledgling, not with a total outsider, but with a young man who is perfectly in his form. Even if his form is not perfect.

The second is the subject matter. It will not be apparent now, but soon the story may shift in directions you are not used to. Teenagers will proceed to swear, experiment, die, and hopefully learn how to live.

However, I shouldn't be holding you up with my ramblings. May I present to you the fateful day where our humble trainer is, himself, humbled. And where the seeds of self-doubt begin to bloom in to a marvelous Odyssey...

* * *

><p>"Back so soon, eh?"<p>

"They s-said I wasn't the sharpest, but I'll be damned if I'm n-not the strongest."

"Bold words. Should we wait for the press to catch up?"

"Anxious for the spotlight? I'd think the b-b-battle would be more important."

"Non, you are right. We fight now!"

The two trainers each drew a Pokéball from their belt, strode to the middle of the arena, and extended their arms straight and their Pokéballs high. Their forearms met with a light thump, and they both immediately retreated in their own ways. The Champion tossed his Pokéball in the air, and with a spectacular back-flip in to his Trainer's Square, kicked the capsule high and released the first competitor: A Lapras. Thankfully, the move was purely cosmetic and the Lapras materialized on the ground with a slight, wet flop.

The challenger tossed his Pokéball over his shoulder and jogged to his Trainer's Square, a Magneton forming in a flash of light. A planned Flash of light, the Lapras squinting hard through the glare and firing an Ice Beam without hesitation. The attack hit the Magneton dead center. Which, of course, meant that the relatively thin beam passed almost entirely through the middle of the magnetic trio, frosting the undersides of each unit. The frost hissed with electricity as a Charge Beam began to charge. The Magneton spun wildly as it blasted off the attack, connecting solidly with the Lapras and knocking it out almost instantly.

The Champion returned his Pokémon and stomped on a button in his square. There was a moment of silence, then the rumble of thousands of gallons of water filling the arena. The Trainer Squares lifted from the floor as a good ten feet of water rushed in to the arena.

"So much for an even p-playing field!"

"I should 'ave done this before we started. Do you like it?"

"It's alright. Do you like Magnus?"

"... It's alright."

The Champion released his second Pokémon, which dove under the water before either the challenger or the Magneton could get a good look at it. With a great blast of mud and a shorting of circuits, they both got what they were expecting. The Whiscash gave a victorious leap as the Magneton was recalled. The challenger knew better than to have only one advantage, however, and released a Breloom in to the water. The Champion initially laughed at what it thought was the poor thing drowning, but the smile was wiped off his face when a powerful stream of seeds propelled the Whiscash in to the air. He took the opportunity to withdraw the thing now, and released his third Pokémon in to the water with a great splash.

The Walrein gave a great bellowing roar before it fired off a sonic pulse through the deep waters. The Breloom hardly noticed, more inconvenienced by being moved by the force than the actual force itself. With a great leap, it jumped up from the water and on to the great beast's back. A short aquatic rodeo and a flurry of punches later, the Champion recalled his third Pokémon. With a look to his trainer, the Breloom gave a sharp nod before leaping up to meet the materializing Crawdaunt. They tumbled in to the water, and both Trainers tried to peer in to the frothy surface at the two brawling Pokémon. They couldn't hear the action, but they both felt the final blow that ended the brawl. The Crawdaunt floated to the surface with a large crack in its carapace, and the Breloom with a nasty cut around his midriff.

"Sacré bleu, was that really necessary?"

"Oh, c'mon, you and I both know that c-Crawdaunt shed regularly."

"This is right, I should not worry so. But your Breloom est très fort."

"Tray-for?"

"That is to say, very strong."

Both trainers returned their team-mates and released their next combatants. From the Champion came a small frog-like Pokémon that dove under the water. From the challenger, a great blue serpent that began to nonchalantly bombard the pool beneath it with powerful jets of violently violet flames. The Gyarados wasted away its Dragon Rages until it was finally met with a Hydro Pump's worth of resistance. In a blue, whiskered blur the Gyarados snapped down and threw the Politoed high in to the air. There was nothing the flying amphibian could do, until it was blasted with a Hyper Beam and its soggy skin stuck it to the wall of the arena. It was quickly withdrawn as the last of the Champion's Pokémon was tossed in to play. Mimicking the Politoed and the Whiscash, it too dove beneath the water. An icy thin jet caught the resting Gyarados off guard, and another froze its maw shut. With a great, muffled Roar, the ice shattered. At least, around its mouth. A thick coating of ice was already encasing the serpent and leaving areas frozen in the water where the hidden foe was firing from.

The challenger decided to recall his third Pokémon before it was turned in to an ice sculpture. There was a tense moment where the challenger did nothing, running his fingers over his Pokéball-studded belt and debating on which Pokémon to choose next. The Champion gave a smirk as the challenger scooted to the edge of his square. There was a large void in the arena where the Gyarados had been freezing, a nearly donut-shaped ring where the tail had been coiled up and frozen. All around were thick walls of ice holding back the water, and in the center was a podium of solid ice. With a moment of careful aiming, a Grumpig was tossed in to the center of the donut, materializing on the icy stage with a cheeky grin.

The battle was over too quickly: The Kingdra was psychically grabbed and tossed in to the sunken ring. It flopped for a moment, forcing out a meager water pulse that hardly reached the Grumpig before it blasted off a Thunder Bolt. It was a rather anti-climactic - and to be honest, brutal - way to end the Championship bout. The challenger gave a shrug as the Champion depressed the button on his square. What water could escape did, and the Trainer Squares became flush with the damp, icy floor of the arena.

"I must say, it is good to 'ave you back in our midst."

"Thank-you, Juan. G-great battle, I got really lucky with that dry spot there."

"Haha! You think I did not know this? The Grumpig was a surprise, but you must stil 'ave your Ninetales on you, no?"

"Yeah. And m-my Aggron."

"Ah, if only things 'ad been different. Oh well. This is your third time in the League, no?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure I know what to d-do."

"Well, congratulations again, Mike. And again, welcome back!"

It was not Mike's first time as Champion, and it would not be his last. The two walked towards the recording machine, chatting away like old friends. The man in his early forties made a short announcement in front of a camera, before re-introducing the sixteen-year-old to the Hoenn public. Juan conceded his position as Champion to Mike as the machine next to them processed the information about Mike's official team.

"… And, I must say that it was an absolute pleasure to see Mike in such form," Juan yammered away to the camera, a hand on each shoulder of the grinning young Champion, " 'Ee 'as vastly improve from 'ees defeat at the 'ands of Norman last year, and 'ee must 'ave put in double time, as I toppled Norman's daughter to get 'ere myself, and she is, dare I say, twice what 'er father is! It was great news to hear that Norman was easily able to get a Gym Leader position, though."

"Especially for me," Mike chimed in, "I'd love to s-see him in for a re-match anytime he'd like! I feel like I owe him an apology for my actions the l-last time we met, anyways. And what better way for t-t-trainers to reconcile, eh?"

"Aah, the fighting spirit! That vim and vigor! Il est plein de la pisse et du vinaigre. That is to say-"

"I know what that one means, and we're on live t-TV," Mike laughed, cutting his elder off, "but I'd also like to apologize to the n-nation for my actions in the past. How I r-reacted to my loss was inexcusable, a-and if there's a way to make it up to you, my nation, it w-would help me settle my feelings of regret."

"Pfah, we 'ave all thrown our fits in our younger years. I'll be the first to publically forgive you, Mike." Juan gave Mike's shoulders a squeeze with a smile, "but, I know for a fact that we are interrupting my favorite program! Look for the full battle on the news tonight, and stay 'umble, 'Oenn!"

Juan reached in and turned the camera off, escorting Mike back through the complex to the front of the League Building for the expected photo opportunities and crowd of fans. As they passed the rooms of the other Elite Four, they offered their congratulations. It was all too familiar to Mike. The first time, it was dream-like. He had been twelve, and the third youngest champion since the Elite Four had been set up in Hoenn. He was de-throned after only a month or so, however, and returned when he was thirteen to win back his title. He held on to his rank for a year, until he was challenged by Norman. Norman had been a stranger in a strange land, and his unique and strange team took Mike by surprise. Over-emotional and worn thin by recent difficult fights, he had lost it on camera and became infamous for it. After becoming a recluse and training hard in the Hoenn wilderness for years, he had returned to seek a proper re-match with Norman. Upon finding out that Norman was now a Gym Leader, Mike decided to re-claim his title one more time.

This was his third march from the Champion's Room to the front door, and he was surprised. Not by the congratulations, or by his victory, but by the lack of people when he reached the lobby. Mike ignored the fact that his battles had been televised and chalked the lack of people up to the fact that his challenge came out of nowhere and wasn't in itself televised.

His parents were waiting in the lobby, of course. His mother and step-father smiled at him from the nearby couch, standing as he approached and wrapping him in a hug. He had visited them shortly before he made his move on the league again, and they were oozing pride at his recent televised apology. And the fact that he was champion, but the title was a mere afterthought to the maturity he had just shown. They couldn't be more proud if they tried.

Along with them were some old childhood friends, who he shook hands with and hugged, a few strangers that he may have battled once or twice before, a reporter who wanted a personal interview for a shoddy magazine that Mike politely declined (after he produced a voice recorder and made sure that he would have the true story of their exchange) and even a few Gym Leaders. It was nobody new, and he could have counted the crowd up easily on his fingers and toes. There was one curveball, however: a plain, but cute, young lady with her fists balled at her sides. Her eyes were red with recent tears, of rage or sorrow Mike didn't know.

"Oh, uhm," Mike spoke as he approached, not realizing who he was talking to until he was too close to properly avoid her, "h-h-hi, Bertha."

"You told me you were studying in Kanto," the young lady growled through moist eyes, "looks like they've treated you well. You're certainly not underfed."

Mike frowned at the comment, looking down at himself. Sure, he was pretty heavy, but he still didn't appreciate it. He thought it best not to reply, as a look over his shoulder confirmed that the people from the propaganda magazine had pulled out a camera and were already filming their exchange.

"P-p-please, Bertha," Mike quietly pleaded, "can we n-not do this n-n-now?" Mike made a move for the door, which Bertha immediately blocked from him. He didn't dare to lay a hand on her and move her, and he meekly awaited the chewing out that was coming. The few people in the room became quiet, having noticed the exchange taking place.

"You told me that you would call every ch-chance you got," Bertha started, building up steam but stifling sobs, "and you promised to w-write me, and you p-promised to visit when you got the chance, but I g-guess that I'm just not good enough for the Ch-champion and his precious team."

"That's not t-t-true, y-y-you are-"

"Don't you dare try to smooth-talk your way out of this," the balance of sadness and rage tipped towards the angrier side of the scale, "I should have known that after your little bitch-fit with Norman that you were bad news. I don't know why I even gave you a chance," she had been getting progressively louder, and Mike had tried to make himself shrink (which was hard enough as it is) to no avail.

"Bec-cause you're-"

"What did I say to you, you… You inconsiderate coward!" Mike felt like he sorely needed a shell to crawl in to and hide, and when he went to turn away he was shoved back towards the girl by the paparazzi and immediately roped in to another insult. "All you ever care about are your Pokémon and this stupid title! Speaking of stupid, you could have used all of that pointless time spent h-hiding from me and gotten yourself an education! How are you gonna support a family, huh? Aren't you and your f-folks poor enough as it is without you running off on them and t-taking their money to fuel your stupid dreams?"

"Listen, b-Bertha-"

"No." Fury and sorrow had both hit their apex, as tears rolled down her scowling face, "Shut your mouth your worthless, lazy prick! When you want to apologize to me like a man, you can come find me yourself. I'm leaving." And with that, Mike's girlfriend spun on her heels and marched out of the lobby and on to the grass. Mike saw her release an Abra and teleport away before he turned to the camera that was filming him.

"Anything you'd like to say to your adoring fans?" The sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast. Mike gave a sigh, walking back towards the Elite Four chambers and made his way back up to the Champion's Room. In the process of trying to save his reputation, he had just ruined it again. Sure, he had lied and told his girlfriend he would be in Kanto and hard to reach, but it was an easy way to go in to training again. With his Kanto alibi, she had never suspected to ask around Hoenn. Now, however, Mike sorely wished that he had really gone to Kanto…

And then, Michael Almus was struck by the most stupidly obvious, but brilliantly simple, idea.


	2. 2: Me and My Half Ton Shadow

It was a novel plan, but with no real meat to it. Mike would actually run away this time. Champions only had to be at the League when there was a decent threat to their title. Otherwise, they could go publicize all they wanted. After his second defeat and embarrassing dethroning, he had read up on the rules surrounding champions and the like. His only responsibility to his specific nation was being a symbol to it. He could go wherever he pleased, so long as he represented Hoenn to the best of his abilities.

He helped Juan to pack up his things from the Champion's Bungalow that night. The Ex-Champion had been cordial and accepting even after the cameras were off. If Mike didn't know any better, he would say that Juan was glad he was leaving. He remembered him making a remark about how Wallace, his student, had been slacking from his duties and that Juan needed to be back at the Sootopolis Gym rather soon. Juan almost scraped the dust from the little bungalow to take with him, but was kind enough to leave an old TV, an even older leather arm chair, and the proper bed dressings. As soon as Juan had left, Mike locked the door and released one of his Pokémon.

An Aggron materialized in front of him, soaking in his environment for a moment before looking to his trainer. A translator around his neck lit up as his rumbling laughter filled the room. The iron Godzilla threw his arms wide and laughed even harder, a strong and triumphant noise. He knew exactly where he was, despite not seeing the final battle, and he knew what had happened.

"It's freakin' amazing to be home!" The Aggron rotated to look around the entire Bungalow, giving a deep sigh of relief as he dropped his arms. "No opportunity to use me earlier?" He faked a hurt look. He knew pretty well that Juan was a water expert, and Mike just rolled his eyes as he settled himself in to the beat-to-hell old leather armchair.

"He installed a pool, Farran," Mike mumbled, absently flicking through channels and not much paying attention to his starter's elation. The Aggron didn't immediately pick up on this.

"You can do that?" The metal lizard took a seat on the floor as Mike nodded, his body creaking with the effort, "how big?"

"The entire room. He installed some sort of lifts underneath the trainer squares, and pumped about ten feet of water in…" Farran looked over his shoulder as his trainer's words petered away, finally noticing the look of sad contemplation on his trainer's face. He scooted around, scratching the hardwood floors right to hell, and looked his trainer squarely in the eyes. Mike didn't look back, focusing on the TV.

"Uh, hello?" The Aggron waved a hand, "Mr. Champion? Mr. King of Hoenn? What the hell is with that look on your face?"

"What look?" Mike mumbled, resting his cheek in his hand and his elbow on the armchair, "No look. I've just been thinking about Kanto. I th-"

"Oh, shit," what movable parts to the Aggron's face displayed a look of shock and fear, "your bitch of a girlfriend found out, huh?"

"She's not a bitch," the weak defense was snorted at, "okay, maybe she's kind-of a bitch. But I did lie to her." He clicked through channels to the news, and it was like she had been on cue. He could see Bertha's rage and misery behind his large, ashamedly hunched figure. He had noticed then how upset she had been, but he didn't notice until now that she was decently angry as well. He also took note of how much of the screen he was taking up, and absently rubbed his stomach. They both quietly watched the exchange on the TV until they snapped back to the studio, where Mike's picture was put up in a corner with the subtitle "Whipped or Whip-ee?" underneath it. The picture was an awful shot of himself taken at the very end of the 'argument' and from one of the worst angles. His shaggy brown hair was a mess, and his grey eyes were nearly hidden by his bangs. His cheeks - which he used to imagine were pleasantly plump - seemed inflated and bloated. Much unlike his ego.

"Wow," Farran remarked over the reporter, who was spinning some story of abuse to the rest of Hoenn, "they messed with that picture. I mean, your head looks like a balloon in that shot. You aren't that fat, dude."

"Don't even start," Mike groaned, tossing the remote to his Aggron, "I'm going to bed. I'll have to be up bright and early if we want to get to Bertha's place at a reasonable hour. Want the rest of the team out?"

"No, wait," Farran called after Mike, "tell me your Kanto thing! I think I know what it is, anyways." He wagged his huge tail behind him, with no respect towards the floor beneath him. Mike rolled his eyes, returning to his chair as Farran changed the channel for him. Cartoons set up a numb background noise as Mike mulled over the idea in his head.

"What if," he started, Farran trying hard not to be distracted by the cartoons behind him, "what if we did actually go to Kanto?" The Aggron's head tilted to the side. He had obviously been expecting something different.

"You mean, like," Farran's mind tried to process what he had said, and Mike thought of how he may have worded it wrong, "we lie to the bitch-oh, sorry" Mike issued a harsh growl at the use of the b-word again, "we lie to Bertha and tell her we were actually in Kanto?"

Mike hadn't thought of this. Though tempting, he decided he wouldn't string up a web of lies. "I can't, Farran," he mumbled after a moment, "somehow, she figured out that we were in Hoenn the whole time. Lying would just make it worse. What I meant was, what if we went to Kanto now?"

Farran groaned.

"Not right now," Mike gave the large foot in front of him a kick.

"Oh, okay, that's a much better idea," Farran straightened himself up, "what do you want to do in Kanto?"

Mike thought hard about this, letting his eyes lose focus on the boob tube behind his teammate. Farran looked up, clicked his metallic claws together a few times to imitate snapping his fingers, then shrugged. The floor would have started to scream Bloody Mary by the time the beastie had turned himself back around. They both sat there, quietly watching cartoons far in to the night. Farran fell asleep sitting up, but Mike couldn't sleep a wink. He was too busy trying to find a good reason to actually go to Kanto…

* * *

><p>Farran woke with a start the next morning, an animated bomb on the television exploding just loud enough to snap him from his slumber. The sound of creaking metal echoed through the Bungalow as the Aggron stretched himself out and stood himself up. He turned around to the seat where his trainer had been thinking the night before, but it was bare. With a shrug, he lumbered in to the kitchen to find a cold pot of coffee, his trainer, and a mug clenched between his hands. Mike's chin rested on his chest, and he was softly snoring in to his cold coffee. Farran rolled his eyes and set to work about the kitchen. His lack of thumbs didn't prevent him from learning the ins and outs of a stove.<p>

A few minutes, a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread later, the Aggron set a plate down on the table in front of Mike with a loud clatter. The young man woke with a start, the mug in his hands nearly sent flying by the sudden shock. With a look in front of him, he realized where he was and what had happened. He pulled the plate of eggs and toast over to himself, trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

"What kinda eggs are these?" Mike asked, poking at what once might have been sunny side up eggs. Farran shrugged with a metallic squeak, bringing over a plate of butter.

"Whatever they were, they're scrambled now," Farran chuckled, "at least the toast isn't charred. Speaking of which, get your own damn silverware. Even if these arms are awesome, the lack of thumbs sucks. I'm a chef, not a maid."

"I see that," Mike smirked, "you made the shells big enough to pick out this time. I'm so proud." Farran snorted as Mike passed to the silverware drawer. The trainer returned with fork and knife in hand and proceeded to butter his toast and de-shell his eggs.

Farran washed and stored what he could of the breakfast before he raided the fridge. They were mostly silent until Farran took a seat across from Mike on the floor. The Pokémon's stubby legs meant that, even sitting, he could comfortably rest his arms (and a whole gallon of milk) on the table. They stared at each other for a quiet, slightly expectant moment before Mike turned back to his meal.

"How late did you stay up?" Farran asked, resting his head in his hands in a childishly curious manner. Mike swallowed.

"I moved over to the table around two," Mike thought to himself, "and the last time I remember seeing on the oven was twelve." Mike blinked to himself, "wait…"

"Nobody knows how to program those, dumbass," Farran deadpanned. Mike launched his fork across the table, which the Aggron snapped up in its mouth. The trainer made a sound of disappointment, having hoped to hit his metallic friend.

"I think it was getting sunny outside," Mike mumbled in to his eggs. Farran nodded in to his hands before taking a swig of milk. Without lips to properly grasp the mouth of the bottle, a good deal ran down his maw, leaving a small puddle on the table. Mike didn't seem to mind, distracted by his own breakfast.

"What revelations did you come up with?" Farran watched as Mike stirred his eggs around a bit, thinking again. Farran wriggled with anticipation.

"We're gonna go to Kanto," Mike finally forced out, "and I think I'm gonna start over. Slowly." Farran's anticipation dissipated, replaced by betrayal. Mike didn't notice until his teammate spoke again.

"You're replacing us?" He sounded about as pathetic as a giant metal lizard could. Mike waved his hand, his mouth filled with eggs and bread.

"No," he finally spoke, "Not all of you. I'm bringing the whole team with me, and we'll start in Pallet town. We'll talk to Oak, ask for a starter, and take on the Kanto league with some new friends." Mike was rather pleased with this idea, but Farran wasn't so sure.

"I don't think you need to be champion in two places," Farran grumbled, drumming his three fingers on the table, "but I do want to go to Kanto. It's a good idea, but you'll need motive. You're chump again, champ. Why would you go to Pallet town?"

"Well, that's easy," Mike finished up his last egg and set to wiping the plate with his toast, "to visit Professor Oak. But I really want to raise up some of their Pokémon, too… Kanto's, I mean."

"I'm rock-headed, not stupid," Farran deadpanned. Mike tossed the butter knife at him this time. It, too, was munched up without hesitation.

"Maybe I could…" Mike knew what he wanted to say, but also knew Farran would laugh, "maybe I could be a mentor for a new trainer?"

Farran, who had been attempting to take another swig of milk, nearly scoffed out a mouthful of it. Which meant very little actually remained in his mouth. Mike had been pretty close, anyways.

"Dude, you would suck as a mentor," Farran reached over and scraped nearly a whole stick of butter off of the butter dish, "You're fine with Pokémon and all, but you suck with human beings."

"If you eat that, I'll beat you." Mike glared down the table at his Pokémon. The Aggron scoffed again, popping the buttery claw in to his mouth. Mike groaned, picking up the plate he had been eating off of and - resisting the urge to smash it over the Aggron's head - placed it in the sink. Farran laughed at his trainer, sucking his claw clean and watching him grab a towel and circle around to the lizard's back. He wasn't laughing anymore, the sudden weight of his hefty trainer bearing down on him.

"I'd think I would do fine," Mike wrapped one hand around one of the Aggron's shoulder spikes, and reached around with the other to wipe the milk off of his metallic jaws and rocky chest, "now take me for a walk and let's discuss it." The Champion tossed the wet towel on to the puddle on the table. Farran was the one to groan this time, but he lumbered to his feet and began to march outside anyways. From the lofty bungalow on the top of the cliff, they could see all of Evergrande city sprawled out beneath them. The League building, however, was only a five minute hike away down a dirt trail. Farran readjusted his living cargo before slowly shuffling down the winding path down the hillside.

"Dude, what if you get a girl?" Farran chuckled at this, but Mike did not. "you suck doubly bad with girls. You would be miserable. I can't remember, is it girls that make you stutter, or just fear in general?"

"Shut up," Mike slid off of his starter and began to trot beside him, changing the subject, "didn't you plant most of these trees?" For a while, Farran was distracted by his own handiwork on the hillside. There were hundreds of different trees, of all different sizes and species. The first time Michael had conquered the league, Farran had promptly evolved from a Lairon in to an Aggron upon introduction to the Bungalow. Farran had promptly claimed the entire cliff for himself (which, surprisingly, no previous Aggron had thought to do before) and began to haul in, order, and cultivate trees from all over. The closest trees to the Bungalow were crooked with the ineptitude of the Aggron's fresh evolution, but the furthest were straight and perfectly planted. They both stopped for a moment and grabbed some berries from some low-hanging Oran branches, quietly munching away for a few minutes, but then the lizard snapped back to the nearly forgotten conversation.

"Don't distract me again," the Aggron's growl was half-hearted, because he did like what he had done with the place, "what if you get a cutie? You'll have to spend months, maybe even a year or two with some total hottie. You would die. You'd mutter and stutter yourself to death. Or has Bertha totally ruined women for you? Hey, dude, if you're gay, it's all cool with me. Then you'll get stuck with a cute guy, and not only will you be a stuttering, muttering wreck, but I'll get to make all sorts of gay jokes!"

"Not gay, Farran," Mike sighed, "boobs are too awesome."

"Oh, how would you know, you probably haven't even seen one on TV."

"How do you know? Bertha and I have been dating for an awful long time."

"Dude, not gonna lie, she does have a nice rack. I can see why humans like boobs so much."

"Yeah, she does. She most definitely does."

"… Oh, shit, so you have? Dude, nice!"

"Only nice thing about her." Mike muttered this last part of their boobversation, causing Farran to raise a brow (or, at least, give his best impression of a raised brow.)

"Is that some contempt I hear?" Farran looked his trainer over again. He was slipping back in to mope-mode.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm getting quite a bit tired of this whole thing," Mike admitted with a little difficulty. He had tried to break up with her before, a month or so before he 'left for Kanto', but she had broken down on him so completely at the mere mention of it. He couldn't bring himself to follow through.

"Break up with her right now," Farran demanded, halting his forward march. Mike kept going, however, prompting Farran to call, "Use Babe and teleport to her house! Get it over with!"

"Babe's never been to her house," Mike called back, almost to the doors of the building that they had been approaching.

"Can't he just look in your head and-" Farran was caught off-guard with his sudden return to his Pokéball. Mike looked down at his companion, sealed in his capsule, before returning him to his holster on his belt. He felt bad for suddenly stopping their conversation, but he didn't even want to think about his furious, and most likely bawling, girlfriend right now.

"I just can't… Not right now…"


	3. 3: We are the Champions

Being a mentor couldn't be possibly as hard as his Aggron lead him to think. His first week of being a champion became a reclusive blur. He had one battle against a trainer who, he had to admit, had a lot of talent. During their battle, he tried to find points where the opposing trainer could improve and rattled them off in his brain. It was so simple to think what he wanted to fix about their form, but on the one occurrence where he actually tried to verbalize it, he stuttered and stumbled over all of his words. Farran had been out wrestling with a Rhydon at this point, and had actually stopped to look at him like he was about to be sick. Truth be told, Mike had been close.

The young man came up afterwards and shook Mike's hand, conceding defeat. When he got closer, he noticed the odd look on the Champion's face.

"You okay, champ?" he asked.

"Never better," mumbled Mike.

Most of the rest of his week was spent ferrying his belongings between his house and the Champion's Bungalow again. Babe the Grumpig easily teleported them to and fro, and with Mike and two of his other teammates helping, they had soon shifted everything to the hillside funhouse. As the Aggron and the Breloom hauled in various bits of furniture, Mike took a seat with Babe for a moment, scratching the pig absently behind the ear.

"What's up," Babe asked, leaning in to the scratching, "oh, wait, I'm a psychic." The attitude was not lost as Mike felt the tendril of power slink in to his mind. It retracted rather quickly, and the Grumpig frowned up at his trainer.

"I don't mean to stomp on your dreams," the Grumpig started, causing Mike's face to fall, "but you're gonna have to break up with that Bertha girl."

Mike's hand stopped scratching in slight surprise. This wasn't the news Mike thought he was going to receive. "Huh?"

"Your mind's a depressing hell-hole," the Grumpig explained, nudging the free hand with his snout, prompting Mike to continue scratching, "and whoever this Bertha girl is, she seems to be the cause of it. I personally don't peer further back than when you caught me, do you mind filling me in? Why do you like her so much?"

Mike sat there for a moment, thinking hard for the right way to put it. He didn't just want to flat-out say 'I was desperate and she was willing', but that was the case. During the few months they were actually, physically together, Bertha had been a source of affection and understanding. The last few weeks before he left, however, he was becoming sick of taking orders from her. She had worn the pants, and there wasn't much he could do to fight it. She also hated Pokémon training, and had become more outspoken against his team. But she had loved the idea of going to school, and Kanto had several great colleges. Mike spun a yarn about going off to college in Kanto, and then he was completely home free. He skittered back in to the Hoenn wilderness and trained to his heart's content.

Babe grunted indignantly. Mike had stopped scratching again, and the noise pulled him back to the present.

"Saw your little trip down memory lane." Mike attempted his magical shrinking act again, but the Grumpig just gave a sigh, "your actions weren't right. You should have just broken up with her."

"I did try, once," the trainer admitted, "but she started sobbing at the thought of it, and I just… Couldn't."

"So your answer was to run away?" Mike didn't want to discuss it. He stood up, but the Grumpig called out to him, "wait! I did say that it wasn't right, but it was also a justified action."

"You think so?" Mike looked to his Grumpig for some sort of forgiveness, something to settle his mind. The pig nodded, and his spirits lifted.

"You're a trainer, not a pet," the Grumpig turned to one of the few boxes that was left and started an odd dance, levitating it, "you should find someone who enjoys training as much as you. And you should break up with Bertha." The manipulate Pokémon's words sounded final, and Mike gave a sigh as the pig entered the house.

"He's right!" Farran and the Breloom called from the other room. Mike was caught off-guard. He though that the conversation had been a private one.

"Goomba, Farran!" Mike began his march, and called in to the bungalow as he entered, "how much of that did you hear?" He hunted down the two Pokémon, who gave him their best innocent looks. Farran eventually broke face and started snickering. Goomba the Breloom thumped him hard on the arm.

"No need to sound so terrified," Farran smirked, "we didn't hear anything. We just figured that you were talking about Bertha again, and hoped that Babe had called her a slut or something." Farran and Goomba chuckled to themselves as they shifted a sofa in to place, and Babe went about his odd dance as he arranged clothes in to a drawer. Mike just sighed again, taking his seat in the old leather armchair.

The first week blurred in to the next, which was relatively quiet until a Dragonite showed up at his door with a letter. Mike roused himself from bed to find that it belonged to Lance, and another meeting of the Champions had been called. Pokémon-delivered summons were a long-running tradition amongst the country's various leagues, and the dragon-tamer Kanto Champion must have pulled the short straw. Or offered. Mike didn't know much about Dragonite, but when it took off at near-sonic speeds from being almost motionless on the ground, he figured that they were incredibly fast fliers. He tore the seal and noted that the meeting would start the next day at noon, and his attendance was checked as "MANDATORY" in a little box. This wasn't unusual to him: new Champions absolutely had to attend their first meeting, under threat of… Mike stopped to ponder this. He was already one of the strongest trainers in his Region, what exactly could they threaten him with? He shrugged, making sure to write the time in sharpie on the back of his hand.

The next morning, bright and relatively early, Mike took a hold of his Grumpig's little paw and they warped away in to nothingness. The next moment, he reappeared in front of the Indigo Plateau. He looked up at the intimidating building, noting the many statues that formed a small maze at its front. Just getting to the fortress was a test of mental strength. Or of simple ingenuity. There was another moment of nothing before the trainer and Grumpig appeared on the front step. They just had time enough to read a hastily scribbled note taped to the door (CLOSED FOR MEETING) before it swung open.

"Ah, just wondering when you would arrive," spoke a sharply, yet theatrically, dressed trainer, "I forgot to remove an hour for Hoenn time, so it's good you arrived early. Mike, was it?" Mike took a moment to absorb the fact that people still wore capes. Kanto fashion was bizarre. Though, he though, Wallace had worn a cape. The man gently cleared his throat, and Mike snapped back to reality and noticed that he had left the man's hand extended. He shook it quickly, before recalling his Grumpig.

"Yeah. Uh," Mike wracked his brain for a moment while the man gave the Pokéball containing his Grumpig an appreciative look, "Lance, right?" Lance nodded, holding the door open for Mike to enter. They strode swiftly through the Pokémon Center and lobby and up through the Elite Four's rooms.

"I didn't know Grumpig could learn teleport," Lance commented, Mike struggling to keep pace as they pounded up another set of stairs, "it's a shame. We were taking bets on how long it would take you to get through the maze."

"They can't, but a trainer I beat while I was training was from Kanto, and offered up some old TMs as payment," Mike huffed as they surmounted the last staircase, "turns out just about any psychic can learn it. Sorry for ruining your fun, though."

"Don't be," Lance said with a smirk as they passed through the fifth and final arena, "I put a grand in the pot saying that you'd be smart enough to either teleport or fly." They shared a chuckle before finally reaching the Champion's lounge. Next to the Pokémon Recording Machine was set up a large, round table covered in boxes of Pizza, take-out boxes, and cans upon cans of soda. Mike couldn't help but smile at the sight. Champion's Meetings were basically parties where the small talk was provided for you. Around the table were seated maybe a dozen people. Half seemed to be teenagers and twenty-somethings who were world-weary, and the other half were old trainers who were kids at heart. And, to Mike's surprise, there were a healthy amount of capes. Or cloaks. Or trench-coats.

Mike took a brief second to look at his attire, plain jeans and a black Polo shirt with a Keckleon-style Blue zigzag. Keckleon shirts had always been relatively popular in Hoenn, but he could already see some of the teenagers (especially the few girls that were there) give him looks and smirks. Horizontal stripes, regardless of how they zigged or zagged, were not slimming. 'Or maybe,' he though with a pang, 'they have all heard those Bertha stories about me…'

"Pot's mine, I-" Lance called with a grin as he approached the table, but he was met with a quick retort before he could finish.

"Finally, you could use some loosening up!" came a comment from a trench-coated Champion, who immediately produced a small, rolled-up… something. A roar of laughter met this, but it petered away when the offended Champion grabbed the joint and expertly tossed it in to a trash can on the far end of the table. In the commotion, Mike seated himself between two Champions he had never met before, and helped himself to a slice of pizza. Lance took his place at the head of the table.

"He teleported past the maze," there was a collective groan at Lance's smugness, and a great deal of money flowed down the table and in to the dragon tamer's hands. "… And with that, out last Champion is here. The meeting is in session, team leaders on the table, please." There was a short pause before everyone produced a Pokéball and placed it in front of themselves on the table. The longest-running Champions seemed to place their capsules almost in unison, while the newest Champions had to fumble and grope for their teammate for a few moments. Mike placed Farran on the table with a timing nearly in the former category, just a hair slower than Lance had been. He took a moment to look around the room, as they all did in the following silence. The eldest of the Champions held in front of them Apricorn Balls of various colors and shapes. There was at least one ball with a spigot instead of a button, as was the old style. The younger trainers almost unanimously had standard Pokéballs, with few exceptions but in varying conditions. Mike's was middle of the road: covered in scuffs, fingerprints, and scratches, with a small dent on the top-left side of the orb.

"Why do we do this again?" Mike looked up to see who had posed the question. It was the trench-coated man from before, and a few of the elder Champions scowled at him. Lance, however, just gave a sigh as he rolled a very worn Ultraball between his fingers.

"Leaving your most prized Pokémon on display is a show of respect," Lance paused and muttered something under his breath, to which the closest few Champions near him snickered, "and, at older meetings, it gave the courtesy of knowing what was coming if an argument arose. Back when Pokéballs were Apricots with names carved in them, or custom-made and highly expensive Capsule Balls that would usually be engraved with the name and species. I see some of you have even marked your newer models, or written on them with sharpies."

"Or our hands," hissed a smartly-dressed, caped trainer to an attractive blonde-haired twenty-something next to him, "and the lard-ass still can't get here on time."

Mike took the opportunity for an example. He flicked Farran's Pokéball across the table, where it connected with the cup in front of the offending boy. As soda spilled down his front, a large angry Aggron appeared at his back. Before he knew what was happening, he was hauled in to the air and away from his own Pokéball. Farran bellowed loudly, locking the trainer in a full nelson and causing everyone's head to snap around to the metal lizard. Some of the younger trainers even jumped in surprise, and Mike was sure he could see his little monster smirking at the quivering trainer in his hands.

Lance and a few other trainers went for their own Pokémon, but the blonde raised her hand towards the head of the table. "The young man next to me just made a nasty remark about this man's figure," she spoke. Her voice, though stern, seemed to hang in the air with her slightly mystic tones. She motioned towards Mike with a small smile, "if you ask me, it's a picture perfect example of why we have our dearest member so close at hand."

"He called you fat?" Farran growled through his translator, having dropped his usual lax demeanor in favor of his natural defensiveness, "this twiggy little prick is making fun of you for being healthy?" He punctuated the last word by hoisting the offending trainer higher still in to the air. The clever caped boy croaked out a cry for help. It was ignored for the moment.

"Farran," Mike soothed, "I was just making an example." He could have sworn that the Aggron whined at him. He must have been right, because most of the other Champions began to chuckle.

"C'mon, just a nibble," Farran asked to more laughs. He was lapping the moment up, leaning in to the trainer and giving a deep, metallic growl. Mike smiled at him, eyeing the cape around his neck.

"Just the cape," Mike conceded, to with Farran gave a roar of joy and snapped in to the fabric. The trainer screamed in fear for a moment before he was roughly set back down in his chair. Reaching around with a claw, the Aggron cut the string holding the cape around the boy's neck and proceeded to practically inhale the cape. With a belch, the room finally lost it again, and Lance had to thump his own Pokéball like a gavel to get them to come back 'round.

"Come on, we've got some important stuff to discuss!" Lance gave Mike a sharp glare and he took it as a cue to return Farran. Retrieving the Pokéball from in front of the recently roughed-up young man, the Aggron disappeared in a flash of light. "Cynthia, however, was right. That was a perfect, if out of character, display. From what we've seen of you, you've been a bit on the meek side of things lately, Mike. You alright?"

"You had business," Mike mumbled as the meekness in question returned, "and I had motivation." Lance gave a nod.

"We'd like to see a little more of that ferocity outside of the ring," Lance gave him a reassuring smile, but Mike had been lead back in to tender territory. As he withdrew slightly in to his collar, Lance cleared his throat and continued, "anyways, the main reason I called this meeting is because, after much deliberation, it has been decided that the Kanto and Johto leagues will be fused. We are both very close to the region's major professors, and rather close to the final gyms in the circuit. And, due to both of our region's relatively small sizes separately, it just seemed to make sense. And before you ask," Lance took a long drink of soda to hide his grin, "Karen and I settled the debate in the noble way. Thus, I will be the reigning Champion of the Tohjo League, with Karen as the final member of our Elite Four."

There was a round of applause before the next Champion stood up and began to relay the news he had about his nation. Everyone seemed to be experiencing a rare moment of peace and quiet. Mike found himself wishing he had been champion while he was out training, as all of the excitement in the continent had happened while he wasn't looking. Team Rocket had finally fallen to some young, powerful trainer, another region had more and more sightings of Mew in their jungles, even the Hoenn region had a trio of Legendaries appear. Mike remembered a short period of time where that must have happened, and he had just disregarded it as inclement weather.

"Would the new Hoenn Champion please present himself," Lance called across the table, snapping Mike from his memories of traded news and training days. He stood quickly, looking across the table to the man who had called him. Lance motioned for him to speak, and Mike reluctantly did so.

"Michael, er, Mike Almus," he knew how he had to introduce himself, "Successor of Juan…" Mike hesitated. Juan's last name was particularly hard to pronounce. The blonde trainer from before, Cynthia, helped him by flawlessly pronouncing it. "Yeah, that," Mike muttered to a small chuckle from the others, "most of you know me, anyways. My Starter is Farran the Aggron, I hail from Dewford Town," Mike had a silly thought, and acted upon it, "and I've been sober for about thirty minutes."

"Hi, Mike," chimed some of the sharper trainers as the rest fell back in to their laughter. Mike gave a weak little smile as he continued.

"The Hoenn region's been quiet," Mike sounded more like he was thinking aloud with the volume he was speaking at, and several of the trainers leaned in to listen to him, "but Steven Stone sent me an e-mail the other day… 'Groudon and Kyogre are both still missing, but presumed to be quelled… Scattered sightings of sea chasms and caves mysteriously disappearing, but most stories unreliable… Sky Pillar is still off-limits," Cynthia gave a small sigh of distaste at this news, as did Lance, "and… Oh, both Archie and Maxie have been caught and put in to custody for their violent environmental extremism'. That's about it, region-wise, but…"

Mike hesitated, and the rest of the Champions gave him a look of anticipation. He felt himself subconsciously sink back in to his collar again.

"I want to be a mentor." Mike forced it out after a tense few seconds, to which some of the Champions gave a grunt of annoyance. Champions as mentors wasn't exactly a new idea. But Lance saw he was going somewhere with this.

"Oh?" Lance absently rolled his Ultraball underneath his hand, "well, I don't see there being much of a problem with that. But I don't think you would have brought it up if your judgment hadn't seen a problem…"

"For Kanto," Mike choked this out, too, and the Champions were all very suddenly interested again. In their own regions, Champions were free to do just about anything they pleased with their trainers, short of harming them. But there were often power struggles when Champions meddled in one-another's business. Especially when one of the Big Four - now the Big Three - wanted to preach his ways in another's territory.

Lance steepled his fingers over his teammate's capsule, seeming to mull the idea over. But it was Cynthia who spoke first.

"I've seen recordings of Michael's ventures and battles," the Sinnoh Champion's mystic tones filled the air again, "if there's one thing the young man is good at, it's Pokémon, and everything to do with them. Personally, I would imagine that you could only hope for better if a professor accompanied a trainer every step of the way." She relaxed in her chair, rolling a Pokéball around in her palm, "I think I'd overlook the classical boundaries in this case, Lance."

"If there's one thing we're all good at, it's Pokémon," Lance retorted, "and as much as I'd like to let him, he has his own region to look after. He can go talk to Birch and sort everything out that way. With all of his traipsing about, he probably knows those jungles like the back of his hand."

"Which is why he should go." Lance and Cynthia both looked to the voice that had spoke. Karen. She returned their surprised looks with a harsh glare. "This is my last meeting for a while, and I'll be damned if I can't say anything during it. That kid knows Hoenn, sure, but what's the fun in dragging some snot-nosed brat around the same boring circuit? The kid's gotta stretch his wings. You know what, Mike? Who cares what Lance thinks. I say do it."

The room was deathly quiet after Karen's outburst. Everyone in the room, besides Mike, Cynthia, Lance, and Karen, were looking tensely between the Johto and Kanto Champions. Relations between the nations politically had always been tense, to the point where people theorized that the Pokémon League was the only thing that kept them united. Now that the Leagues were uniting, however, things seemed to be getting tense between the two of them.

Cynthia, who had been looking to Karen, turned her vision elsewhere and found Mike's. She gave him a small smile of encouragement, but Mike missed it. Mike had turned to Lance and focused, waiting for his response with baited breath. Karen looked around the room, glaring down anyone who focused on her for a little too long. Lance had buried his face in to one of his palms, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

The Kanto Champion sighed after a moment, looking up from his hand towards Cynthia, "will he be able to keep his duties-"

"I'm right here, sir." Everyone's eyes shifted to Mike, surprised at the second show of gumption from the usually painfully shy boy. Lance looked away for a moment, shame and embarrassment painting his cheeks red. Mike's voice shook with fear, or perhaps rage, as he continued, "j-just because I'm not the prime example of a Ch-champion, doesn't mean I don't exist."

"Why did you chose this moment in time to grow balls," murmured Lance, returning his face to his palm. There was a light 'ping' as a Pokéball lazily rolled across the table for a second time that evening. Farran's capsule found its way through the scattered items of food, coming to rest a few inches away from Lance's own starter. When Lance looked back up, Mike was leaning over the table, attempting to bore a hole in to Lance's skull with his eyes.

"Will you be able to keep your duties?" Lance asked from his palm. Mike's reply was curt.

"Yes, sir."

"When a challenger comes along, will you be able to make it back and accept that challenge?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you stay out of the Kanto Gym Circuit?" Lance looked up once more. Mike hadn't budged.

"Just the Gym Circuit?" It came off as more of a statement.

"As long as you don't earn badges, you're fine." Lance looked down at his Ultraball, rolling it forwards to touch the foreign Pokéball. Mike gave a visible twitch as they connected.

"I will not challenge the gyms," Mike agreed. With a gentle push, Lance returned Farran to his owner, who gratefully scooped him up.

"… Then I see no problem with it." There was a short moment of silence after Lance made his decision, but it was broken when Cynthia began to clap. Karen joined in with a grin, and after a moment Mike was being hailed with a shower of applause. The closest Champions to him clapped him over the back. A wide, silly grin spread over his face as the cheering died down. He couldn't remember much more of the meeting, but Lance quickly dismissed them after that. Everyone took home a little something, and a few even stopped to wish Mike luck.

"Congratulations," Cynthia spoke to him in-between bites from a box of stir fry, "I expect to hear great things from your future pupil. Next time, though, just come up north. You're always welcome in Sinnoh, Michael."

Karen came from nowhere and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, "and I don't give a rat's ass what Lance says, Johto would be honored. It's good to see trainer's with the itch, especially so when Champions still have it."

"You guys are acting l-like I just won s-something," Mike stuttered out, painfully aware that two very pretty, older girls were flooding him with compliments. And one of them had her arm draped around him.

"Didn't you?" Cynthia asked with a knowing look. Karen gave a nod and shoved a box of pizza in to his hands before heading off after some of the other Champions. It was like they were reading his mind. He'd gained a lot more than a title recently. He was gaining some confidence.


	4. 4: Honor Thy Neighbor

Lance could not find a way to wipe the smile off of Mike's face.

For the past two hours, they had been discussing the meeting yesterday. Or, to be more precise, Mike's mentoring idea from yesterday. Lance had been pushed in to allowing Mike to venture around in his region, teaching his trainers how to beat him. Mike was going to take some hell raiser right to Lance's living room, and have the little mutt piss on his rug, so to speak. It wasn't so intensely bad that Mike was in Kanto, but the idea that a Champion would be spoon-feeding champion-grade material to some impressionable youth made Lance… Nervous.

Of the big three (formerly, the big four) there were trends among the regions. Hoenn had the most dynamic title, with Champions switching out almost once a year, with few exceptions. The exotic nation leant itself to having many more curious trainers and battlers, even though the nation itself was the homeland of Pokémon Coordinators. The more curious the trainers, the more that made it to the league. However, this meant that Hoenn champions exerted the least control over their nations, leaving many decisions for training to be made by the government and left for the champion to scribble a signature upon.

Sinnoh's Champions tended to be bizarre. The land was rich with ancient history, which influenced the trainers with stories of long-lost power and wisdom. On top of this, Sinnoh was an incredibly large and varied region. Trainers were often wise beyond their years and very well-traveled, and thus Champions were usually eccentric and filled with wanderlust. As a curious side-effect of the region's enormity, the average trainer's age was much higher than the other two (formerly three) nations: Where Johto, Kanto and Hoenn floated at about ten to twelve for their first-time trainers, Sinnoh boasted much older newcomers at around thirteen to fifteen.

Johto trainers also experienced history, but in a different way: Instead of having to hunt down ruins like their brothers to the north, Trainers were steeped in history from birth. Due to this, they grew tired of their past and looked towards their future. Johto trainers were often the most intelligent of trainers; what they hadn't researched in magazines, they were able to look up on phones. They were also highly fashionable, often setting trends for other trainers to follow. Champions followed the suit of trainers: they were as sharp and as stunning as a bedazzled tack.

Kanto, however, had a living history to them. They were a nation of lineage. The professors of the region had always been the mighty Oak family, the gyms were passed from parent to child, the criminal underworld passed their title of 'Boss' between their brothers, and the champions were almost always of Lance's noble blood. As such, trainers were often taught as if they were family. They were the most rounded. Jacks of all trades. Curious and intelligent with a penchant for exploration. But, seemingly unique to them, Kanto trainers (and even citizens) displayed a high sense of honor. Battles were held with high respect towards one another, and even the villainous Team Rocket had been built on that sense of respect.

And it was that sense of honor that Mike had betrayed last night.

"Mike," Lance spoke, "I can't stress enough how confused I am about this." Mike returned to the couch Lance was sitting on, tossing him a can of soda. With a thump and a fizz, Mike took his seat in the leather armchair and opened his own.

"What's the confusion?" Mike, not knowing of the honor he was violating, was honestly confused about Lance's resistance to his mentoring idea. Lance sighed and took a sip from his can, nearly balking at the sweetness. Hoenn sodas used a bit more sugar in them than the Kanto variety he was used to.

"Why do you want to abandon your people?" Mike gave a snort, to which Lance groaned, "you don't have any sense of unity here in Hoenn, do you?"

"I'm not abandoning my people," Mike replied, "they're hardly my people, anyways. I've been champ for not even two weeks. And they can handle themselves. If the earth and sea start rebelling again, Steven Stone has offered to take care of them personally."

"And what if those terrorists rise up again?" Lance reclined slightly, taking another tentative sip at the far too sweet drink. Mike scoffed at him.

"The eco-freaks? Not only do we have them locked up, but they've been forcibly enrolled in economic science courses," Mike pulled back on the handle for the leather armchair, which reclined with a groan, "and not the land-grabbing, speculating kind of economy, either."

"Ecology," Lance offered, with an indignant look. Mike gave a nod.

"Yeah, that one," he continued, "and Geology, too."

"And why not your own trainers? Why can't you talk to Birch and show some of your own kids around? You still haven't-"

"Karen told you last night, damn-it." Lance blinked for a moment, looking over his can at Mike, who was sitting up straight again, the same angry glare plastered on his face as the night before, "you're just walking around in circles now. I have seen all Hoenn has to offer, Kanto is interesting to me, Professor Oak has agreed to give me a starter, I've even had gym leaders curious about when I'll be stopping by. Kanto wants me there, Lance. And…"

The thunder was gone, and so was Lance's frustration. Mike's glare melted away in to his usual, shy, embarrassed look as he sank back in to the armchair. The dragon tamer waited for him to continue, for him to finish the tirade he had been on. He would have no such luck, however.

"And what?" Lance prodded, but Mike just shook his head. He didn't want to admit the feeling that he had. The feeling that Hoenn didn't want him in charge.

"Professor Oak said that he would be holding his quarterly Trainer's Exam next Monday, right?" Mike asked from behind his soda can. Lance gave a nod, before rising to leave. He had hoped that his host would escort him to the door, but Mike had slipped in to one of his moods again. The Kanto champion sighed, opening the door and taking a step on to the porch. He stopped, however, and turned to face Mike again.

"Maybe," Lance decided to chance at the subject before he left, "if you put a little more faith in yourself instead of beating your ego all to hell, Hoenn might put a little more faith in you. I saw your little fit a few years ago, and I saw your girlfriend chew you out a few weeks ago. You were twelve then. You grew up, and moved on. You're nearly a man now. Time for you to move on again."

Mike couldn't help but grin slightly, "move on to Kanto?"

Lance sighed, before forcing a, "yeah, sure," and slamming the door as he left. Mike's smile widened. He had his permission. His personal and binding permission.

"Dude's right," came a gravelly, strained voice from down the hall. A voice that Mike hadn't expected. Sitting up in his chair, he saw Goomba the Breloom walking out of one of the spare rooms. In his hands he clutched Farran's translator, pressing it over an enormous scar on his throat. Mike hadn't looked at it in a long time, and felt a fresh rush of self loathing as he did.

"Goomba, how long were you listening?" Mike leaned over as Goomba approached, putting him on eye level. The Breloom shrugged, giving a little cough as he readjusted the translator around his neck.

"The wounds may feel deep, but they have only just scratched the surface," Mike felt a pang as he realized how close to home the Breloom was speaking, "if you let the wounds torment you, they will never heal. You just need to forgive yourself for being weak and sloppy in the past, and realize that everything is not as bad as it seems."

"You're right, Goomba," Mike conceded, giving his teammate a small smile. There was a roar from one of the back rooms, followed by a small chuckle from the mushroom-esque friend.

"Farran says that you should break up with the bitch, too." Goomba gave a smile as he relayed the news.

"Yeah, I figured," the portly young man reached out his free hand to scratch the cap on the Breloom's head, before sending him to return the translator to Farran.

* * *

><p>It took Michael until Monday morning to figure out just how he would get to Kanto. Babe had insisted on Teleporting him there, while Goomba had the smarts to ask about a form of public transport. The bus system took too long, but the Bullet Train would get him as far as Goldenrod in Johto before they needed to transfer. Unfortunately, an untimely disappearance of a vital piece of machinery put a wrench in the works of their Bullet Train plans. They reverted back to the Teleporting idea. The Grumpig would need some panoramic photos of the location it needed to teleport to, and it could only safely teleport a few dozen miles at a time. It would take Babe at least five minutes per teleport to rest and re-focus on another spot. On top of that, teleporting to previously unvisited areas was risky. They could wind up teleporting in to a tree, a rock, or even a passing Pokémon or Trainer, at which point they would both violently explode as they tried to occupy each other's space.. The pictures not only had to be incredibly recent and isolated, but had to fit within no more than thirty miles of each other.<p>

About half-way through this long process, just as Mike was finishing packing and Babe was practicing the first teleport in the route (from which he could bounce from viewable point to viewable point if need be) Farran brought up something that Mike had forgotten: He was the Champion of Hoenn.

They had a Private Jet to the Viridian City airstrip within the hour.

From Viridian City, Babe was let out of his Pokéball and proceeded to teleport them down Route One in short, quick blinks. They covered what usually took a few days to walk in about 5 minutes. With an air of complete contentment, Mike drew in a deep breath before he returned his Grumpig and pounded the last few blocks through the tiny town of Pallet.

There wasn't much to the town at all, to be honest. Mike could clearly see the coastline down the dirt road he was treading. Small, scenic houses dotted the otherwise plain fields. The town felt slightly off-centered, with a hill placed to one side that had a huge building perched upon it. Around the hill were various family-owned stores of all sorts, giving the large building the impression of a mother bird over her nest. The building itself was grand and bizarre. Windows were in odd places, wires were traipsed over the walls like vines, an entire corner seemed to be a greenhouse, and satellite dishes and antennae decorated the roof and high walls as if the building was growing metallic hair. Mike could hazard a guess at the identity of the building before he noticed the electronic bulletin board that was wrapped around the top of the structure like a ribbon. Information was scrolling across it at quite a clip, but Mike was able to figure out that he was just in time for the testing to begin, and next week the aides were having a pot luck.

Mike made his way to the front of the building, putting his back to the coast. Before the hill leading to the lab, there was a fence. It was small, old, broken in places and missing a gate. But the most important part was an old, faded sign posted almost in the middle of it. Mike gently brushed a layer of dust from the sign, revealing the simple message underneath it:

_Oak Pokémon Research Lab_

There was something to this simple message. Four words on an old, forgotten sign. And yet, Mike could feel as if there was something more. It was like a moment from a movie: The Champion took a knee in front of the aged relic, placing a hand upon the worn wood and feeling as if he was not the first to have done this. Generations of young boys and girls before him must have read this sign, looked up to the lab with a sense of wonder and amazement. So many people drew from the sign and its meaning: The beginning of a great journey. Thrills, adventure, danger, self-discovery… Mike dwelled for a moment, a rare smile gracing his face, blissfully unaware of the approaching footsteps behind him. The soft noise came to a halt a short distance away as a sharp, young, feminine voice cut through the Champion's haze.

"It's just a sign, kid." It was so dismissive, so insensitive, as if she had seen the sign all her life and disregarded every other person that had been in Mike's shoes, "I've watched people do that for years. No matter what you do, it's just a freaking sign."

"What?" Mike turned to the girl without standing up. She was… Odd-looking. She was dressed like a trainer might be, if trainers had money. New blouse, new jeans, new large purse-bag thing. And new, lacy, uncomfortable-looking, heeled boots. Mike looked back up at her face after his slow, observant once-over to see a very confused pair of vividly blue eyes glaring him down.

"I haven't got time for stupid kids following stupid rumors," She snipped, marching past Mike and up towards the lab, "Oak doesn't need you to lick the sign first, or put a five-hundred Poké-note under it, or whatever. You're gonna be late for the test." At that, she stopped her forward march and turned to wait for him. She couldn't have been much older than the training age, yet Mike felt as if he were the child. According to her, he was a big, dumb kid who had just fallen for a rumor.

According to her, he was about to be a new trainer, too.

Mike was very cautious to sweep his teammates off of his belt and in to his pockets as he stood up. He must have done so slyly, as the girl made no mention of it as he caught up to her. They both began the short, uphill stroll to the lab. She instantly dove in to conversation, which caught Mike off-guard.

"I haven't seen you at any of the classes," she picked at a loose string on her sleeve as they walked, "Are you the exchange kid Oak mentioned?" The girl gave Mike a momentary look of curiosity before returning to her string, "Must be. Keckleon zigs are a Hoenn fave, right? And your shoes have Devon on them, too."

"Yeah, H-Hoenn native," Mike stuttered as he looked down at his running shoes. Old, beaten to hell, but the Devon logo must have been the most durable piece of material on them. "Is it th-that obvious?"

"Yup," she spoke, plowing in to her next thought, "what's up with the stutter? Is it a speech thing, or are you just nervous?"

"N-nervous," Mike agreed, with a slight bit of resentment at the idea he might have a speech impediment, and a touch of shock that she would be so blunt as to point it out if he did, "Is the t-test hard?"

"No," the girl suddenly lost her spark, looking down to her feet as they reached the door. Mike didn't open it, waiting for the reply that took a few moments to materialize, "Well, uh… Yeah…" she kicked at a small rock near her feet, "I've… Taken the test a few times before. He changes the questions, so there's no point in memorizing last quarter's…" Her tone became indignant and full again, "and it's all oddball questions, too! Like what weather Charmander dislike, or where the best place to look for a Goldeen would be."

"Rain, and river shallows," Mike didn't realize that he had answered until he caught the look of surprise from the young girl, "Wh-what?"

"How long did you study?" Mike scuffed the ground with his foot, smiling slightly. He hadn't studied a bit, but he wasn't going to say that, not with the awe she had just shown. "You're sitting next to me. Oak's starting to lose his sight, and I want to pass this thing for once."

"Okay," Mike chuckled, holding the door open for his new friend. He tried to think of some witty response, but was immediately caught off-guard by the sheer size of the lobby. And just the lobby at that. The huge room had a circular reception desk planted squarely in the middle of it, with doors leading off in every direction along the walls, and a forest of seating covering the floors. TVs were hung on any available space of wall, each with a different Poké-centric show playing with subtitles. The young trainers in the room were drawn to the TVs like Venemoth to flame. There must have been maybe fifty trainers-to-be, in groups of five or ten around each television. Over the whirring machinery and dull chatter of Pokémon from other rooms, there was the roar of conversation and the hum of nerves.

The newfound friends hardly had time to find a seat before the largest double-doors at the back of the room were thrown open. An elderly man took in the room for a moment before flicking out a pair of glasses and pressing them to his eyes. "Alrighty, kids, just as we practiced: Boys on the left, and girls on the-"

Professor Oak locked eyes with Mike, and the entire room was left quiet with his speech's sudden end. "Are you Mike?" He asked, the gaze of fifty-something children instantly turning towards the young champion.

"I am," Mike gave a small smile, working his way through the chairs towards the professor. Oak extended a hand, which Mike graciously shook. The kids behind them began to murmur amongst themselves before the professor gave Mike a wink and waved a hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, This is the exchange student I informed you about. This is Mike. Michael… uh," the professor realized his mistake as looked to the champion for help, to which he was returned a sigh. Instead of running the risk of a child recognizing his real last name, he decided to use his step-father's surname, much to his own chagrin.

"Michaels. My name is Michael Michaels."

Even Professor Oak had to laugh.


	5. 5: Elementary, my Dear Farran

"Michael Michaels?"

"My stepdad is Dominic Michaels. It was the first thing I thought of."

The embarrassing entrance seemed to take the nerves off of Mike as he sat down with Professor Oak in his office. The small, messy room wasn't messy in the way you would think. One would imagine papers and files littering the small space, but one would imagine wrong. The Professor's office was littered with litter: old coffee cups, wrappers from Pokémon Treats and people treats alike, dirt, footprints, and many, many Pokéballs with bits of masking tape for labels. It didn't feel filthy, though, not to Mike. It felt as if a Trainer lived in the room, not a professor. And that, too, put the young champion at ease.

"Lance told me you were a trouble-maker," Oak gave a grin as he began to rifle through drawers, careful not to upturn any of the capsules on his desk, "but he didn't mention you were a comedian, to boot. But we don't have too much time. The kids will want their tests, so they can get their starters as soon as possible. And you'll be among them."

"Taking the test? Sir, it'll be child's play," Mike gave a grin as the professor produced a stack of folders and a box of pencils, "you sure?"

Professor Oak gave him a grin, "If you're going to be a newbie trainer for a week or so, you'll have to go through the proper motions. Here's the lowdown: A hundred questions, if a Pokémon is listed it will have its general typing listed with it. Fifty-one about Pokémon care covering all of the types, another forty-nine on general trainer safety. You've heard about the newer typings, correct?"

"Steel and Dark?" Mike gave the nodding professor a blank look, "but those have been types for years. At least, in Hoenn they have."

"Well, it's still relatively new news for Kantians like us, with how ass-backwards our science department is." The Champion's eyebrows rose slightly at the Professor's swearing, "don't give me that look, boy, you're sixteen, not ten. I may be one of the best, but everyone here's so conservative that all I'm stuck working with are fresh-out-of-college nerds or unreliable 'trainers'. And stuck working against some of the thickest skulls in science." Oak gave a sigh, pushing the folders in to Mike's arms, "I could honestly say I'd be just as happy giving the lab to you and taking off. If-"

"If it weren't for the trainers," Mike finished, grinning over his shoulder at the antsy crowd outside, "there's just something about newbies that makes it worth it, huh?"

The professor gave him a slightly surprised, but thoroughly pleased look, "Yes. Precisely so." Oak gave Mike a quick once-over, before shooing him out the door and in to the classroom once more. Mike milled about the room, passing out folders and pencils to everyone he could find, and eventually taking one of the last folders and seating himself next to the girl he had walked in with. The desk was a bit tight, but he was also much larger than the average trainer. The girl gave him a funny look as he tried to squirm in to a more comfortable position, and eventually just gave up trying to get comfortable. Mike gave the professor a small, pathetic look before the professor picked up a small timer on his table.

"You have," Professor Oak began to crank the timer, causing a chuckle when the battered little thing broke in his hands, "well, practically forever, anyways. You may begin!"

There was a collective flapping of pages and scratching of pencils as the Professor tossed the timer in to the garbage can next to his desk. Mike spared no time, though he found that he didn't need to rush when he was about ten questions in. Everything was trivial to him.

_1: Your CHARMANDER [FIRE] has a sore, burning throat. However, using FIRE-based attacks causes no pain. How do you best cure the condition?_

Mike filled the bubble 'B: Have the CHARMANDER use mouth-based FIRE attacks, such as EMBER and FLAMETHROWER, until the condition subsides' without even thinking about it.

_6: You see a MAGNEMITE [ELECTRIC/STEEL] with a severely warped body and magnets. What was the most likely cause of the damage?_

"Easy," the champion mumbled with a smirk, filling 'D: The MAGNEMITE has recently been exposed to intense heat, probably due to a battle with a FIRE-type Pokémon' and continued on down the paper. The girl next to him occasionally looked worriedly over her papers and at his. Without realizing it, Mike took his folder and erected it around himself. An old habit from elementary school.

"Traitor," the girl hissed at Mike, who gave a small chuckle as he continued.

_17: A man you have never met before approaches you and offers to shake your hand. He knows your name before you even ask. Trailing behind him are a SNEASEL [DARK/ICE], a MACHOP [FIGHTING], and a DROWZEE [PSYCHIC]. How does he know your name?_

Mike entertained the idea that 'A: The SNEASEL [DARK/ICE] has stolen your wallet/purse and given the contents to the man' before he finally reached 'D: The DROWZEE [PSYCHIC] has used FUTURE SIGHT [PSYCHIC] and conveyed your name to the man in advance' and picked it. Though he found it odd that a Drowzee experienced enough to know Future Sight would have remained a Drowzee. Unless, of course, the attack had been passed down through good pedigree. Either way, it worked out to be the correct answer in his mind.

_33: You are in a double battle against a DRAGONAIR [DRAGON] and a NIDOKING [POISON/GROUND], and you are down to your last Pokémon! If it had to be one from the list below, you would choose…_

"A Jynx," Mike mumbled out loud, now fairly bored with the test and content to make up his own answers. Thankfully (for himself and the young lady next to him), the third answer was 'C: JYNX [ICE/PSYCHIC], who not only has ICE-type attacks to deal with both the DRAGON- and GROUND-type, but has the added advantage of PSYCHIC-attacks against the NIDOKING's POISON-type' and he lazily filled it in. Everything was simply too easy.

Eventually, however, the questions about Pokémon and their types and care ended. At question fifty-two he was presented with a small bold header: GENERAL TRAINER KNOWLEDGE. Mike smiled to himself as he continued down the paper. He had spent years fending for himself in the tropics and hills of Hoenn. These questions would even be easier than the GENERAL TYPING KNOWLEDGE questions beforehand.

_52: What are the three basic things a human being needs to survive?_

'C: Water, Food, and Shelter'

_68: When building a lean-to to withstand rain, after erecting a sturdy wooden frame, you should…_

A: Pile on large, slick leaves to repel water

B: Cover the lean-to in debris to provide insulation

C: Plug any large holes with small sticks, dirt, and mud to prevent leaks

'D: All of the above'

_82: True or False: A river with Pokémon living in it must be safe to drink from._

Mike hesitated. By the books, you should boil all water before consuming it to ensure that anything dangerous living in the water would be killed. However, Mike didn't always enjoy setting up camp just to fix up a drink, and often used the idea that running water that was inhabited by Pokémon was safe to drink. Ignoring some stomach pains when he first took up the practice, Mike had never had problems doing this. In the end, he decided to bubble in 'FALSE', because he knew he had picked up a bad habit. It wouldn't stop him from following his rule in the future, though.

_100: When in doubt…_

Mike chuckled at the final question's filler answers. 'A: Run around screaming' and 'B: Curl up un a ball surrounded by your team' were both guilty charges, and 'C: find someone large to hide behind' often left people hiding behind him. He finally chose 'D: Consult the Pokédex' and squeezed out of his desk to turn in the small, scan-able test sheet to Professor Oak's desk. He heard a screeching of chairs as a few others scrambled out of their desks, and the champion graciously allowed them to fight over who would be first. Using his height to his advantage, Mike passed the paper over the small mob's head and in to the Professor's waiting hands.

Professor Oak took the sheet with a grin before inserting it in to a small scanner at his desk. There was a brief hum of machinery, then a small ding as the paper was ejected from the other side. The Professor picked it up, gave it a once-over, then handed the sheet back to Mike. The paper was exactly the same, except for a small square with 'SCORE' written above it. In fine red print, there was a small '100'. There was another box, which had the label of 'PROFICIENCY' above it, and in the same fine red print was 'ALL'.

"Nice."


	6. 6: Slimy, yet Satisfying

_Author's Note_: If it hasn't been glaringly obvious already, I don't own Pokemon or any of their creations in any way, shape, or form.  
>Also, I'm on the hunt for a Beta Reader. If you're curious about beta reading for me, please get in touch!<p>

* * *

><p>Mike had been sitting in the lobby for a good fifteen minutes while the rest of the would-be trainers finished up their tests. As if in instinct, he had picked the largest and comfiest chair and proceeded to kick his feet up. He sorely wished that he could release Farran or Goomba to keep him company, but they had to remain in his pocket for the time being. He was becoming a new trainer, he couldn't possibly have a full team already. Especially not a full team of exotic Pokémon from another region. Granted, only three of his team were exclusive to Hoenn and the small surrounding regions, but it still wouldn't look fantastic.<p>

Boys and girls began to trickle out of the doors to the testing room, each one with a different expression on their face. Most of them looked rather glum, some to the point where they crumpled up their tests and tossed them in to a bin that had been placed outside of the door before marching out in a huff or sulking away in near-tears. Mike gave the most heartbroken and angry children slightly skeptical looks. The test had been a breeze for him, all of it was general knowledge. Then again, Mike had a good six years of training on all of them. Not to mention six years of age. However, a few emerged with looks of relief, grins, laughter… It was a good sight to see.

Mike found himself sitting up properly when the girl he had been sitting next to finally emerged from the testing room. She had a relatively blank expression on her face, holding the test paper gingerly out in front of her as she took a seat next to Mike. He leaned a little closer to her to sneak a look at her paper, but only managed to see her name - KAITLYN - before she noticed him and hastily hid her test.

"I passed, okay?" she hissed, folding up the test and cramming it in to her pocket. Mike looked in to her glaring face with confusion. "And I got a good Type proficiency, too, so you can just shut up, Mike-Mike." Mike just rolled his eyes at her nick-name, before she continued, "anyways, you can't judge. You're, like, three years older than me or something, and you still haven't passed the test before! You must be some kind of dunce."

Mike quietly held up his own test results for his 'friend' to see, and couldn't help but feel a little proud when her jaw dropped. "First time," Mike added as she took the sheet from him, "I h-haven't been interested in training before."

"You got a _perfect score_?" Kaitlyn asked incredulously, to which mike nodded. "And you only took the test once?" Another nod. "Your proficiency just says 'ALL'… What do you get to choose from if you get _all_?" Mike's face must have shown his confusion, because Kaitlyn automatically started explaining.

"I don't know how they do it in Hoenn, but Professor Oak takes your test results and runs them through a machine. It gives you a type proficiency," she pointed to the small box with the thin, red 'all' printed inside, "to tell you what the test thinks you're best at. Personally, I think the worst proficiency is 'normal', so I'm glad I didn't get that. Anyways, it also takes your test results and runs comparisons on all of the starter Pokémon in the lab, and then picks three of them for you to choose from. It's all really basic stuff. If you get fire, you usually get Ponyta, Vulpix, or Growlithe. Or a Charmander if they have one, sometimes. I heard a rumor that perfect proficiencies get to choose out of some of the best in the lab, though. All of the Kanto 'starters'," she made air-quotes, "show up, like Bulbasaur and Squirtle and Charmander. Apparently, both Red and Blue were presented different Starters, though, or just caught something beforehand. I'm not sure, the rumors are really weird…"

Mike just let Kaitlyn continue on in this fashion, perfectly content to let her fill him in on the entire affair of starters and the many rumors that surrounded it. She kept enviously looking over his own test, and eventually she pulled out hers to compare answers. She would occasionally point to different errors on her paper and exclaim her frustrations at being incorrect, though she would occasionally just sigh and concede that she was wrong. They sat like this for another fifteen minutes, Kaitlyn being as loud as she pleased, and Mike contentedly listening, smiling, frowning, and appropriately responding. Even if Mike didn't quite realize it, he was a fairly good listener.

"… But I told you I got a good proficiency, see?" the young trainer-to-be pointed to her own proficiency box, which had 'DRAGON' printed inside of it, "even if my score wasn't too high, Dragon-type proficiency is really hard to get! There aren't many Dragon-types in Kanto, but maybe I'll get a Charmander, 'cause they wind up looking like Dragons, or maybe even a Rhyhorn, because they get all big and lizard-y, but I wouldn't mind something like a Horsea, because they can turn in to a dragon-type, too! Oh, but I really want to see what you're going to get! You're going to get all sorts of cool Pokémon to choose from! Maybe even rare ones! The Professor actually said he had some Dratini this quarter! Can you imagine? You could get a Dragon-net or something like that!"

"Dragonite," Mike absently corrected, watching as the Professor emerged from the double doors, ushering the last few children out ahead of him. One of them, a girl that almost looked too young to even be taking the test, was positively bawling. The Champion and Professor Oak locked eyes for a moment, and there was a quick jerk of the Professor's head in his direction. Mike knew he was being called over, and he got up to leave.

"Wait, Mike, where are you going?" Kaitlyn asked, rising with him. Mike turned back to her, holding up his index fingers as if to say 'wait'. At that, he marched over to the Professor, who wheeled out a machine to meet him and the small crowd that remained. It was a touch-pad computer screen that was currently off, and beneath it was a thin slot. Beneath that were three spherical indents in a small, high-tech table. Above each indent was a thin, wiry, robotic arm with an odd little 'antenna' on the end. He guessed that this must be the machine that teleported in the starter Pokémon. Mike found this rather odd. He thought the idea of matching a starter to a new trainer's natural tendencies was a novel idea, but it was definitely not how starters were met in Hoenn. Most people would just go out and choose the first thing that didn't try to take a bite out of them when they picked it up. But the people that went to the lab would take a test first, then get to pick from a larger array of more docile things to pick up and hope not to be bitten by.

But, apparently, the system worked for Kanto. And he guessed that people would walk in with their own starters a lot of the time. His thought solidified in to reality when Mike turned from the machine to face the small crowd of new trainers behind him. Of the twenty or so that remained, five or six of them already clutched Pokéballs tightly in their hands. One of them even had a Luxury Ball. Which suited him, as Mike found him to be especially snooty-looking.

"Alrighty," Professor Oak raised a hand to one of the aides sitting in the circular desk in the middle of the room. The aide nodded, and the lights were dimmed as a projector screen dropped down behind the Champion and the Professor. In front of them, a projector on the ceiling whirred in to life, as did the machine behind Mike. Professor Oak shooed Mike out of the way and took a moment to beam at the small machine, before returning his attention to the small crowd in front of him.

"This machine next to Mike and I," the Professor made a flourish towards the machine, "Will take your test results, match them up against data about Pokémon currently stored in the lab, then produce the three best choices it finds to suit your tastes and skills. It works like-"

"What is the machine called?" The snooty kid asked, actually turning up his nose slightly to look at it. Mike was incredibly surprised with what happened next.

"It's called the 'You-brought-your-own-starter-so-don't-worry-about-it-o-tron'," the Professor said all in one breath. Mike and the rest of the kids laughed as the Professor gave a smart little grin. Professor Oak leaned over to the Champion and whispered, "I get kids like him at least three times a year. It has a name, I just don't like attitude." Mike couldn't help but let out a fresh bout of chuckles.

"Anyways, the machine works like this," the Professor turned to the machine and pressed a button underneath the screen. As the monitor and projector both jumped to life, Mike felt his heart skip a beat when his full name was shown at the top of a questionnaire. Professor Oak, however, quickly scrolled down the screen to a large agreement box, hiding the name from view. "After you insert all of your personal information for your Trainer License, you simply have to agree to the short agreement. Mike, would you kindly read it aloud to the trainers-to-be?"

Mike leaned in towards the screen, and began to read.

"I, the undersigned, do hereby remove all liability from Professor Oak or his laboratory for any ensuing injury or death from my journey, unless said injury or death can be directly and thoroughly traced back to being the fault of Professor Oak, his laboratory, or the Starter Pokémon I am about to receive.

"I also understand that the journey to come will be dangerous, and that I can submit my Trainer Card - and Starter if I so wish - to any Pokémon Center along my journey, and retire from training for a minimal period of at least one," Mike hesitated, the number one being repeated for the sake of accuracy. He skipped it, "year and one," the repetition for accuracy happened again, "full 'Trainer Basics' class before attempting to register for a Training License and Starter Pokémon again.

"Also, at this time, if I so choose, I may place my own Starter Pokémon in to the central Pokéball receptacle and have it registered to my trainer license. Otherwise, I will choose from the three Pokémon that were deemed best suited for myself by Professor Oak and his laboratory."

"And there's a little green 'I accept' button, and a-" the class behind him began to chuckle shortly before the Professor gave him a rather hard pat on the back.

"Thank-you, Mr. Michaels," The Professor gave a grin and another few claps on the back, "now would you kindly accept or decline the agreement? Or produce your own starter, if you'd like."

Mike shook his head at the last option before pressing the green button in front of him. The screen blanked, then was replaced by a large window with a small banner of text on the top of it. The window took up the top two thirds of the screen, while the bottom third was left blank. Two thin lines separated the window and blank spaces in to three segments. The text at the top read:

**CONGRATULATIONS. PLEASE INSERT TEST SCORES IN TO THE SLOT BELOW**

"As you can see, Mike can now run his scores through the machine and have his starters chosen for him. If you wouldn't mind, Mike," Mike nodded, produced his test paper, and inserted it in to the slot beneath the screen. There was a brief moment while the paper scanned his scores, then a new window briefly appeared:

**MICHAEL**

**SCORE: 100  
>PROFICIENCY: ALL<strong>

The crowd behind him began to murmur in excitement as the window disappeared. There was a small sense of pride in his perfection, even if the test was meant for first-time trainers and not for seasoned veterans. The excitement was further fueled when a second window reappeared.

**SEARCHING DATABASE…**

Silhouettes of various Pokémon began flickering in each of the three larger window-segments. The first finalized as a Pokéball materialized in the furthest left slot. It simply looked like a blob on the screen. The excitement turned to confusion behind him, but the next shadow that stopped spurred them on again. It resembled a very thorny quadruped with what Mike may have thought to have been a horn. The third finalized quicker than the other two, as if an afterthought: a circle with a long oval protruding from its backside, and two tiny ovals underneath it.

**SEARCH COMPLETE**

As the windows disappeared, the silhouettes turned to full pictures, and information about each Pokémon was placed underneath them in the previously blank spaces. The first Pokémon was a Gastly, the second a Rhyhorn, and the third a Poliwag. Looking down, the Champion watched the last of the three Pokéballs materialize in the three cups beneath the mechanical arms. Mike reached for the first Pokéball in the line, but hesitated for a moment.

"Would you mind if I met the Pokémon first?" The Professor beamed at him, nodding.

"Of course you may! Matter-of-factly, I insist that you," Professor Oak turned to survey the room, "and everyone else in here, take a good look at the Pokémon offered to you. But for goodness sake, take the Rhyhorn outside if you decide to let her out. She's feisty."

'_So now there's two I don't want to take out,_' Mike thought to himself, hovering his hand over the Ghost Pokémon's ball for a moment. He really didn't want a ghost zipping all over the lab, but he didn't want to take the Poliwag without question, either. With a soft 'gulp', he picked up the Gastly's capsule and depressed the button. In a flash of red energy, the black ball materialized within a purple haze. A fanged mouth grinned up at him, and before Mike could even focus on the large eyes glaring in to his, he felt he should avert them. The Champion heard the Gastly give a noise of annoyance as he slammed his eyes shut and felt for the button on the capsule in his hand. With a click and a whoosh, Mike chanced a look in front of him again. Professor Oak - as well as the rest of the class - was giving him a look of confusion.

"It tried to Hypnotize me," Mike explained, "I'd rather not have to worry about that every time I let…" Mike turned back to the screen and looked at the information table for the Gastly for a moment, "him out. And I don't think I want a Rhyhorn. I already-"

Mike caught himself before he could say 'I already have a giant, rocky, death lizard' and quickly changed course, "a-already had a b-bad experience with one of these g-guys…" Mike had been wondering where his stutter had been. Lying had never been his strong suit, but hopefully he could just write it off to fear and leave the point alone. Mike felt as if he wasn't making the best of first impressions. He couldn't look a Gastly in the eyes, was afraid of Rhyhorn, and was about to waste his perfect proficiency rating on a Poliwag. What kind of mentor was he turning out to be?

Then again, what better cover for a Champion? It was the polar opposite of what everyone expected. A meek trainer with a plain-Jane Pokémon. It would make for the perfect reveal. Especially when he could show off Farran, and his Ninetales, and _especially_ his Gyarados. With that thought, Mike had no qualms about picking up and releasing the Poliwag. It had hardly materialized, and Mike already wanted to just accept it and hurry the process along.

Mike looked down at the small, blue tadpole.

The small, blue tadpole looked up at him.

And it winked.

That's when Mike saw it. It wasn't very often that he did see it, but Mike took a knee in front of the Poliwag just to be sure. He could have sworn the little tadpole had just winked at him. That was an impressive sign. It was a sign of personality, a sign of something bigger hiding inside of the tiny Pokémon. Wit, pizzazz, fear, love, anger, all of the possibilities raced through his head. A great personality was an absolute diamond in the rough, especially in such a young Pokémon as the Poliwag before him. A personality could be catered to, or molded, embraced or shunned. Many Pokémon were animals and pets, but it took a little something special to make a true friend. At least, Mike liked to imagine it did. He was quite selective of his teammates, but that little wink had just passed Mike's personal test with flying colors. Tentatively, the trainer extended a hand towards the Poliwag. After a brief moment of observation by the tadpole, it pressed its moist head in to the trainer's palm.

"You really aren't going to choose that one, are you," came a familiar, snooty voice from the audience of trainers, "the weakest, dumbest, slimiest little Pokémon in your lineup, let alone the lab?"

"There is a lot more to a Pokémon than strength and intelligence," Mike glared daggers at the brat, absently rubbing the, admittedly slimy, tadpole beneath his hand, "if you were fit to be any sort of trainer, you would know that." The remark was harsh, and left a split second of perfect silence before the small crowd of trainers released a quiet group 'Oooooohh' towards the embarrassed and enraged child. Thankfully, though, this shut him up. Mike picked the Poliwag up and held it up in front of him for a moment.

"You'll need a name," Mike mused, turning to look at the screen behind him to see if he could get any inspiration.

**POLIWAG**

**GENDER: MALE  
>AGE: 10 WEEKS<br>TYPE: WATER  
>NATURALLY JOLLY<br>NOTE: LIKES TO FIGHT**

"A jolly brawler, huh?" Mike hefted the tadpole, giving it a gentle toss in to the air. He was lucky it was such a small toss, as even at that velocity it was like catching soap. But not nearly as cleanly. It still chirped with what Mike could guess was delight, shooting out a small amount of bubbles upon landing back in his hands. He then noticed how small it was, which he could probably attribute to its young age. Poliwag weren't native to Hoenn, but he had still seen his share, and they were certainly much bigger than this. Mike would dare to say twice as big. The Poliwag he was holding couldn't have been more than a foot in diameter. Or maybe the Poliwag was the runt of the… Litter? Spawn? Clutch? Either way, at least its tail was an impressive length.

Runt wasn't a good name. Or Munchkin. It would get bigger eventually, so Mike tried to stay away from size-based names. What did he know that was blue and frog-y? Or at least slimy. But then again, it didn't have to be frog-y or slimy. It could turn in to a fighting type, right? At least, Mike thought it could. It could be his little brawler, his little fighter…

"Little Mac," Mike pronounced carefully, as if it were some delicate flower of a name, "after one hell of a boxer." Years of gaming seemed to have finally invaded the trainer side of his brain as the Poliwag made another one of his happy noises and another bunch of his happy bubbles. Mike made a mental note to drop the first part of the Poliwag's title if it ever decided to get any bigger. Placing Little Mac back on the ground, Mike returned to the machine and confirmed his selection, taking a few moments to punch in the Poliwag's new name, and hitting another green confirmation button.

**CONGRATULATIONS. PLEASE SMILE FOR PHOTOGRAPH.**

A small camera flipped out of the top of the machine and took Mike by surprise. Mike's size also took the machine by surprise, as it had to readjust to the trainer's height. There was just enough time to force a smile before the camera clicked. Mike returned his attention to the screen as the machine kicked in to gear, obviously printing something up.

**MICHAEL!  
>YOUR VERY OWN POKÉMON LEGEND IS ABOUT TO UNFOLD!<br>A WORLD OF DREAMS AND ADVENTURES WITH POKÉMON AWAITS!**

**LET'S GO!**

Just as Mike finished reading, a rather large, thick plastic card was ejected from the slot where he had previously placed his test. There was a small round of applause as he flashed his trainer card. Returning Little Mac and moving away from the machine, Mike took a seat and admired the plastic card in his hands. It had his picture (which, though colorless, was admittedly much better than the last picture he had seen of himself) to one side, with a list of information on the other.

_Michael Almus  
>Registered 34/15  
>Expires 34/19  
>Kanto TSID: S20-5512<em>

Underneath the picture and the information were two rows of four squares, each with a small pinhole through the center and a colored outline. This is where Mike would have been able to pin in his badges, if he were allowed to earn them. But this didn't bother Michael Almus in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, he was still getting his journey. He had his starter, he would soon get his Pokédex, and as far as he was concerned, he was getting a fresh start. With a content grin, Mike settled in to watch the other young trainers receive their starters, and couldn't help but reminisce about his own…


	7. 7: Something Annoying this way Comes

Author's note: I am not proud of this chapter. I don't have a beta, and every time I re-read it I hate it a little more. Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, and I hope you like it more than I do.

* * *

><p><em>"So, ready for your big day next week?"<em>

_ Mike's step-father sat himself down opposite of his step-son at their small table, a bowl of cereal in each hand. After a moment of careful observation, the young boy chose the slightly fuller bowl and took it from his step-father, placing it on the table in front of him. Noticing the spoon was already in the bowl, he took a quick bite before answering._

_ "Yup," the boy offered, "Mommy got a call from the breeder's place in Johto, and Sampson's babies are old enough for training!" Mike took another few bites, attempting to juxtaposition his hunger and his conversation, "He says I can have one! A baby Aron!"_

_ "He better have said that," came his mother's voice from the other room, "imagine if he didn't let you have one of your dad's starter's kids? And an Aggron will make for a great partner someday. And those Bullet Train tickets wre expensive." His mother finally entered the room, still dressed from work last night and bleary-eyed as ever. With a yawn, she asked, "Are you gonna get a boy or a girl?"_

_ "I dunno yet," Mike mused in to his cereal, "what do you think, Dom? Uh, sorry, dad?"_

_ "Well, I was never the best trainer, but I've never had a problem with ladies," he gave his wife a wink, who returned it with a giggle._

_ "Dominic, behave," Mike mimicked his mother, pointing his spoon threateningly at his step-father. He smiled when his mother laughed behind him. The one thing his house was never short of was laughter._

* * *

><p>"Kaitlyn, you're next," Professor Oak beckoned the girl from before forward, snapping Mike out of his daze. He turned his view to Kaitlyn's selection screen, watching the silhouettes flash by and settle as they did before. She seemed to deflate at her selection. She was obviously expecting a Dratini, or something more dragon-esque. Mike even felt slightly bad for her at the two Pokémon he could see: A Magikarp and a little blue rabbit thing that was unfamiliar to Mike. The third was obscured from view, but it was luckily the first chosen. To Mike's great surprise, another Poliwag had appeared. This one seemed normal-sized, which made it twice as big as the contained tadpole he now owned.<p>

She looked over it patiently, examining it from every side. She didn't pick it up, but she probably couldn't if she wanted to. It was a big, slippery thing, and Mike doubted even he could pick it up safely. He chuckled to himself, remembering how hard it was to pick up his first Pokémon, and just like that he was drifting back to thoughts of his first trans-national trip to visit his father's prized Aggron and his clutch of young Aaron...

* * *

><p><em> "So, which one do you like," growled a proud father Aggron hovering over Mike and the baby Aron running around his feet. Mike had been quietly surveying the little metal wrecking balls milling around his feet with a silent curiosity. He had been trying to decide between a large boy who was covered in dents, an equally large girl covered in an equal amount of dents, and the slightly smaller boy who had just picked a fight with the large boy over the large girl. Or, Mike figured that's what it was about.<em>

_ "I dunno yet, Sampson, who's the little scrappy guy?" Mike asked, pointing to the smaller Aron who had just rolled the larger one on to its back. Sampson squinted for a moment, scratching his chin with a squealing of metal-on-metal._

_ "Tybold, I think," The Aggron spoke, thinking for a moment, "plucky little thing. You know how sometimes the genetics let a Pokémon pick up on moves easier, right? Well, he's a born Body Slammer." On that note, there was the heavy clunk of two rocky bellies meeting each other. "Not saying it does much good with other Rock- and Steel-types, but… there you go."_

_ Mike nodded, feeling a little tug at his pant leg. Looking down, he saw an Aron chewing at his pant leg. It seemed like a dull little thing, but as Mike leaned over to shoo it away, it reeled back in surprise. There was a moment where the Iron Armor Pokémon quickly searched side to side, before pointing a stubby paw of blame at his father. Mike couldn't help the smile that sprawled over his face._

_ "Farran, beat it," Sampson chided, giving the little metal thing a gentle punt in the opposite direction, where the Aron landed harmlessly on its thick, metal skull. It took a tumble, finally landing on its metal stubs after a moment of impromptu (and frankly accidental) acrobatics. Mike chuckled at the Aron, who nodded its head as if it were bowing._

_ "I kinda like that one," Mike smiled as he advanced on the bowing Pokémon, "what was his name again?"_

_ "… You're kidding, right?" Sampson asked, "not Farran. He's a smart-ass. And a lazy-ass."_

_ "Sampson!" The breeder's son had called from across the yard, "how many times do we have to tell you to watch your bloody mouth?" The Aggron let out a low growl towards the boy, who couldn't help but flinch._

_ "Better listen to Jude, Sampson," Mike chided, kneeling next to Farran and polishing the dirt from his head with his shirt sleeve…_

* * *

><p>"Mike!" Kaitlyn suddenly called over her shoulder, snapping the Champion back from his daze. She had just returned the odd rabbit-like Pokémon and had turned her attention to him, "you're a Pokémon wizard, right?"<p>

"W-well," Mike gave a sheepish grin and a small blush, "I wouldn't s-say _that_." But, it was true. Besides the professor, he was probably the most knowledgeable person in the room when it came to Pokémon.

"And you got a Poliwag too, right?"

"Yep." Mike rolled the Pokéball in his hands, careful to keep it as smudge-free as he could.

"And you'll help me raise up the best Poliwag in all of Kanto, right?" She gave a cute little grin, which Mike found almost… Inspiring. It was odd to think of a grin as inspiring, but it gave him a strange sense of hope and confidence in the young girl in front of her. It was as if, one day, she would have the best Poliwag - or whatever it evolved in to - in all of Kanto.

But he wasn't about to admit that.

"Th-the second best," Mike returned the grin with his own, before turning his attention shyly back to his Pokéball.

"That settles it, then!" Kaitlyn span on her heels and plucked a Pokéball out of the machine, "I'll take a Poliwag, too! With two trainers on the same kind of Pokémon, we'll be able to raise them up twice as good, right?"

"C-can't argue with that," the Champion spoke, his thought process interrupted by a buzz in his pocket. He felt his mind blank. A buzz in his pocket? It could have only meant he had just received a text message. Before he could process what this meant, Mike fished the antique flip-phone out of his pocket. With a pang of regret, he realized that the text would have had to have been from Bertha. Who else had his cell-phone number? And he had never confronted her about their last argument, much to the chagrin of his team. What was he supposed to do about it now, though? He was in another country.

With a shock, Mike saw the text was from Phoebe.

_Just got rocked. Literally. Kid's strong. Get your rear in gear, dear._

"Oh shit," Mike hissed, the reality hitting him. He had a challenger, and he was several hundred miles away from his post. He had to remember to thank Phoebe for keeping his number in her phone for so long, but that was merely an afterthought in his mind. Phoebe was currently the second member of the Elite Four, and frankly, the weakest. Sidney and Phoebe had purposefully swapped places to weed out the weaker trainers quickly, but this meant if the relatively strong Sidney was toppled, Phoebe would be a much more relaxing fight. And if both Sidney and Phoebe were down…

"Something wrong?" Mike had not expected that voice. It was the bratty child from before. The well-dressed shock of auburn hair seated himself next to the Champion on the couch, attempting to peek at the cell phone before Mike snapped it shut. Foiling his attempted eavesdropping did nothing to scrub the smirk off his face, however, and the fledgling trainer did not leave.

"I f-forgot something at home," Mike spoke after a moment, realizing how true this was, "M-my bag. And most of my c-c-cash." The Champion got up to ask Oak's permission to leave, but the annoying trainer next to him said something that caught him completely off-guard.

"Don't forget about your title while you're gone, Champ."

Mike turned to face the young man with slow, deliberate purpose. He looked spoiled. Not well-to-do, as Kaitlyn looked, but truly spoiled. His shirt was top-of-the-line, probably water-proof and fire-retardant. Not to mention emblazoned with some sort of family crest. His pants were of the same caliber, very high-end trainer's jeans. A bandolier was slung from his shoulder, with six visible magnetic holsters and eight squares for pinning his badges. Large heavy duty boots were laced up tight, and in his hand was clutched an Ultra Ball. And his hair, his ruddy red hair was so familiar, but Mike couldn't quite place it.

"Wh-what did you j-j-just…" Mike could hardly stutter out a reply, but the wealthy young man stood himself up, widened his smirk into a truly evil grin, and walked away before the Champion could attempt to question him further. Or stutter him to death, whichever Mike could muster first. Kaitlyn soon replaced the strange red-head, proudly displaying a Trainer Card in one hand and a Pokéball in the other. It was almost a little too much for Mike, and he recoiled slightly as she began to jabber on.

"I got the Poliwag!" She beamed at him, not waiting for any response before plowing in to her thoughts, "I wasn't sure whether to take it as an insult or not, I mean, I got a Dragon proficiency and only one vaguely Dragon-y Pokémon showed up, and I know I can catch a Nidoran myself, which I am totally gonna do, but I saw the Poliwag and I thought 'Why not?' because now we can both train Poliwag together, and I know they have a split evolution, and we can both get separate final Pokémon, and where are you going?" Kaitlyn watched Mike leave with a look of mixed confusion and aggravation. It was just a bit too much for the Champion to handle, which was evident when he brashly cut in front of a young man on his way to the machine. The Professor saw his worried and aggravated look from across the room, however, and followed him a few paces away so they could chat privately.

"What's the matter, Mike?" Professor Oak shot a look at the snooty young man across the room, "if that boy is giving you a hard time-" Mike interrupted the Professor, flipping his phone open and showing him the text message he had received.

"I need to go get my bag," Mike proclaimed just loud enough to be heard. The Professor pulled out a small pair of reading glasses, flicked them open, and read the text message. Mike hardly found this to be a stealthy move, but the elder nodded after a moment.

"Hurry back, we should wrap up here in about an hour and I'd like to give everyone the same instructions at the same time," The Professor finished, mouthing 'Good Luck' before Mike turned and began marching for the door.

"Wait!" Kaitlyn caught his sleeve as he walked past. He couldn't help but stop, turning to face her confusion, "where are you going? You need to stay here!"

"I f-forgot my bag," Mike spoke, turning to leave again. He was cut off by her quick response.

"You left your bag in Hoenn?" She asked, giving him a skeptical look.

"No," The Champion lied, "it's in V-Viridian."

"Why is it there?" Kaitlyn didn't notice how white Mike's knuckles were becoming.

"I l-left it on the p-plane." Mike replied, attempting to keep his voice level.

"How could you forget your bag?"

"I d-d-didn't. It was confisc-cated by customs."

"But you just said-"

"I forgot to pick it up after it g-got confiscated." Mike was beginning to lose his cool, but Kaitlyn wasn't picking up on this.

"But why did it-"

"I don't know why, it just was." Mike noticed then that he was getting rather loud, and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I need to catch a cab as soon as possible, so c-can you just drop it?"

"But a cab will take half an hour," Kaitlyn protested, "and we have to go to Viridian and back anyways."

"Without supplies?" Mike was beginning to let himself get carried away, "A three- or four-day journey with no s-supplies?"

"There's a shop in town," Kaitlyn huffed, "no need to get moody with me."

"I just n-need my bag, ok?" Mike took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He hadn't had to deal with drama of any sort in a long time, and the last few weeks had been chock-full of it. Even if it was petty, he had lost his tolerance for it.

"Why? You can just buy some clothes and potions in town, and-"

"They don't have clothes in my size," Mike forced out, much angrier than he intended, "so can we just drop it?"

"Ok, jeeze," she mumbled meekly, though it was a little obvious she was hunting for an apology. Mike didn't notice, though, and turned on his heel to march out of the lab. His day had quickly shifted from great to awful, smooth to tumultuous, and most importantly, from simple to incredibly complicated. He marched down the steps to the lab, hooked around the side of the building, and released his Grumpig without a second thought.

"You ok, dude?" The Grumpig asked as he forged the psychic link between their minds. In an instant, the pig was filled in, and Mike didn't have to explain. "Wow, pretty shitty day. Could have been a little nicer to that girl, though. You haven't had anger problems since-"

"Get me to the Bungalow," Mike interrupted, reaching out for the Grumpig's paw. The creature was hesitant, but Mike was in no mood for more complications.

"You do realize that the furthest Teleport I've ever made was about a hundred miles, right?" Mike flexed his outstretched hand in response.

"It's an empty Bungalow, you know exactly where it is." He glared down at his Grumpig, trying to figure out why he was rapidly becoming so irate. The Grumpig was right, it had been a long time since he had had problems with his anger. Maybe it was because he hadn't had to deal with society in a while. Or its problems. Eating, sleeping, and training had been all he had to worry about for the last two years, and he was very suddenly immersing himself in society again. He wrote his anger off to this and proceeded to leave it unchecked.

"A hundred miles, on a clear day, and I could see my location," the Grumpig reiterated.

"Coward." Mike knew exactly how to push his Pokémon's buttons. He could feel the anger radiating off of his companion's paw as it found his hand.

"You want to die? Okay. Fine. I'm not telling you who the snobby boy is, then, Mr. Anger Management Issues."

"Fine," snapped Mike, and with no further protest from either party, they vanished in to thin air.


	8. 8: Versus Curtis, I

There was a brief moment of weightlessness where Mike and Babe had thought something had gone absolutely, horribly wrong. The Champion had screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and thus had no idea where - or even when - he had appeared. In the millisecond where he was airborne, he regretted ever goading his Grumpig in to doing such a long range teleport, regretted his hostility towards Kaitlyn and deeply regretted marching out of the lab in such an angry fashion. It was completely out of the norm for him. Mike prided himself in his superb anger control after his last major defeat at the hands of Norman, and it was his loss of control that tormented him the most.

Then his shoes met the wooden floor of the Bungalow with a thump, and his heart returned to a normal rate.

"Holy shit, I did it," Babe thought aloud, completely flabbergasted at his own abilities. The pig looked up to his trainer, and their equally relieved eyes met. Mike immediately wrapped him in a tight hug, which was returned with enthusiasm.

"I told you you could do it," Mike exclaimed with a smile, hefting the heavy pig in to his arms with a grunt, "I told you that teleporting wasn't that scary!"

"Celebrate later!" Babe forced Mike's arms apart and lofted himself to the ground. As soon as he could properly do so, the pig began his strange dancing. Mike was spun around to face the door as a blue hooded sweatshirt forced itself on to his form, zipping itself half-way up. His teammates came out of his pockets and attached to the magnetic discs in his belt, and an old duffel bag founds its way over his shoulder.

"You work fast," Mike remarked as he opened the door in front of him, taking a few steps out on to the porch before he was psychically spun back around.

"One second." The Grumpig rubbed its paws together, focusing for a moment before Mike was blasted with a wave of energy. A cloud of dirt, skin flakes, miscellaneous hairs and bits of filth were mentally scraped off of Mike and scattered in the breeze behind him. Mike rubbed his cheek and noted how smooth it was. He had even had his peach fuzz blown clean off.

"You're getting good at that." Mike reached in his bag for his deodorant as he turned to walk down the dirt path to the Elite Four building. He uncapped the stick and began to administer it accordingly.

"How's the shave?" Babe lifted the deodorant from Mike's hands when he was finished.

"More like a wax," Mike marveled at his tender cheeks as the pig replaced the deodorant stick in his bag. They marched for a few seconds before the Grumpig reached out a paw, touched the Champion's hand, and blinked them down the path a few yards at a time. They arrived at the back doors to the Record's Room in a few seconds. Mike pushed it open, taking a deep breath.

He was home. Even if he had only been gone a few hours, there was no place quite like it.

* * *

><p>Mike checked the clock on his phone for the third time that minute, standing in his Trainer's Square and worrying over how long things were taking. He had been waiting for at least a quarter hour now, though it felt like hours. The new Trainers in Kanto were probably finished with the picking of their starters already, and Oak would be giving them some sort of debriefing. Or Mike figured he would. Kaitlyn had also mentioned something about having to go to Viridian and back anyways, so maybe Oak was filling them in on that little trip. Or maybe they were just socializing, waiting for Mike to return. He could feel himself pale slightly at this thought. The bratty little redhead would be telling everyone about him, he could almost guarantee it. It wasn't a huge deal that the other trainers knew who he was, but Mike had wanted to see them all as equals before he made a decision on who to take under his wing.<p>

Which led to another thought: He was going to choose who he would train. Is that how it traditionally worked? From what little he knew about mentors he had or mentors he had met, younger trainers would often go searching for a mentor. The other way around was relatively uncommon, but not unheard of. A mentor-student relationship usually just seemed to happen. Was he going against some natural order by forcing himself to be a mentor? Then again, he would be surrounded by young trainers who would probably be clamoring for his skill and expertise. The color returned to his face at this thought. He would be some sort of idol if they found out about him. He enjoyed being looked up to. Mike figured that he had turned in to a decent role model. At least, for training. His hand subconsciously found its way to his stomach and absently began to rub it.

Before his thought process could continue, a buzzer sounded from across the room. This was followed by a gruff, static-laden voice.

"The challenger, Curtis, will be entering shortly." There was a click as the microphone was hung up in the other room. Mike rolled his shoulders, feeling his belt for the dented Pokéball, and readied Farran for the pre-battle banter.

The doors across from him swung open as a lanky blonde boy entered the arena. As the challenger took a look around the room, Mike did the same. The many cameras mounted on the walls and ceiling sprang to life, nearly a dozen little red dots blinking on around the Champion's Room. Mike returned his vision to the challenger, took a deep breath, and stepped towards the middle of the arena.

"Congratulations, c-Curtis," Mike called, prompting the other trainer to step forward as well, "f-for making it this far in the p-Pokémon league."

"Aren't I supposed to be the nervous one?" Curtis called with a smirk, both trainers coming to a halt in the middle of the arena, both within arm's reach of each other. "C'mon, a stuttering chuh-chuh-champion?" Mike felt his blood begin to simmer, his knuckles growing white around Farran's Pokéball.

"I'm s-sorry," Mike replied curtly, "I d-didn't know that my sp-speech pattern affected my training."

"No, but I can bet your size has," Curtis mumbled, lazily extending his arm out for the pre-battle custom. Mike whipped his arm around as hard as he could, their forearms connecting with a loud thump, knocking the Pokéball out of the challenger's hand with a yelp. Curtis withdrew his arm with a shocked look as his first Pokémon was released. A Dusclops materialized as Mike dropped his own Pokéball, turning and marching back to his own square.

"Today is _not_ the day to mess with me," Mike called clearly, his stutter smoothed out by his anger. Farran roared in response, waiting for Mike's command.

"What's up, Mike?" Farran took a moment to question his trainer's rage.

"Ghost-type!" Mike and Farran locked eyes, the lizard's tail absently flicking his Pokéball back to his trainer's hands, "I need to be back at the lab ASAP."

"No mercy?" Farran gave a growl, turning back to the ghost.

"Bingo."

"Fire punch, Beady-Eye!" Curtis called from the other side of the arena. Mike just gave his Aggron a nod.

The Dusclops launched itself towards the distracted Aggron, one of the hands attached to its body bursting in to flames. Farran didn't even seem to notice, taking the Fire Punch squarely in his rocky stomach. The Aggron grabbed the stubby arm with a claw engulfed in dark energy, bringing the second claw around in a brutal blast of darkness. The Dusclops' hollow body collapsed around the powerful Payback punch, and it was unconscious before it even hit the ground.

Mike couldn't help but smirk as the challenger's mouth dropped open. The blonde fumbled for his Pokéball, returning the twitching Dusclops and calling out his next competitor.

"Sparks, use…" Curtis hesitated as he released a Yanmega, looking straight at Mike.

"Bug-Flying," Mike called, "these things are fast."

"I got it, I got it," Farran called back, adjusting the translator around his neck.

"Use Double Team!" The Yanmega began to vibrate, eventually phasing in to two giant dragonflies. They gave an angry buzzing, watching the Aggron in front of them, waiting for their foe to make a move.

"… Are you gonna give a command, tons-of-fun?" Curtis called from the other side of the room, but his question was lost when the Aggron began to sweep the air with a jet of searing flames. Both Yanmega were caught in the sweep, and the real one lost altitude as the fake one faded away. Farran kicked up a tile from the ground and spun around. His great tail slapped the tile directly in to the struggling Yanmega, which immediately collapsed to the ground in a puff of shattered ceramic material. The arena was silent for a moment as Curtis angrily returned his second Pokémon.

"Okay, time out," called the irate challenger, walking around the edge of the arena. Mike began to move as well, meeting the fuming, confused, lanky teen half-way around. Mike always had that effect on the more ignorant challengers, but even more-so in league battles. He couldn't help the grin that found its way on to his face.

"What the hell kind of League are you running?" Curtis flourished his hand in the Aggron's direction, who growled, "He's not listening to you at all! He isn't listening to anyone! Are you really so incompetent that you just catch Pokémon and let them run wild?"

"It's called 's-Silent Battling'," Mike explained, "if you had l-let me give my introd-d-"

"Suh-suh-Silent Buh-buh-battling?" Mike's challenger's mocking immediately removed his grin, "Sounds like a fucking cop-out if you ask me."

"Farran looks like he's p-properly trained," Mike shot back, "H-he didn't kill your b-bug, did he?"

"Even wild Pokémon have the sense not to kill, dumb-ass. You," Curtis pushed his index finger in to Mike's chest to punctuate the point, which caused the Aggron to issue another growl, "probably didn't train that thing at all. You," another prod, another growl, "probably just bought him off of a breeder and pumped him full of steroids. I bet you," poke, growl, "haven't put in a decent day of training _in - your - life_." Curtis accented the last three words with more pushing, which Mike casually took as his Aggron was whipped in to a complete frenzy. "And with the way you look, fat-ass, I bet-"

Mike threw the third most satisfying punch he would ever throw in his entire life. There was a small spray of blood shortly before the lanky teen collapsed to the ground like a sack full of bricks. Mike shook out his hand as Farran gave a gasp. Curtis lay on the ground, only barely conscious, and it was a decent amount of time before he struggled to his feet. Mike made an about-face and very nearly strutted to his Trainer's Square. The punch had been within his rights: Curtis had touched him first. The contact by his opponent had also forfeited the match, but Mike was not done humiliating his challenger yet. When he turned around, Curtis was retreating towards his own square with a sleeve over his nose. Every few seconds the blonde head would shoot Mike a look of fear and confusion.

"You ok, bud?" Farran was giving him a similar look, or at least as similar a look as his metallic face could portray.

"Never felt better in my life." Mike massaged his knuckles. He wouldn't be surprised if he had broken one. There was a slight sting every time he went over his middle knuckle, but his hand seemed otherwise okay. Mike started to feel a little regret as his challenger removed his shirt sleeve, blood still flowing pretty freely down his face. His other hand, however, was already going for the next competitor.

"Go, Regirock," Curtis called through his broken nose. Mike raised a brow in response, and Farran began to shift on its feet uneasily. It almost sounded like he had said…

And there it was. A veritable pillar of rock materialized in front of the Aggron, two arms made of connecting boulders swinging freely at its sides. Two stubby feet began to shift it closer, with seven, yellow, beady eyes giving no hint towards its thoughts. Mike began to rack his brains for whatever information he knew about the Regis, especially Regirock. He knew they were practically an endangered species, seeing as they were the first man-made Pokémon and very few were created many, many years ago. A trainer would have to have at least four badges to apply for the 'Rare, Exotic, Dangerous' card in order to own one. Mike knew this because he required two: One for Farran, and one for his Gyarados. He also knew that all of the Regis were weak to fighting types, and that he had seen only a Regirock before. And even then, he could have sworn it was a mirage.

"Rock-type," Mike called out after a moment, "want me to help you out?"

"Maybe," Farran replied, sizing up the Legendary in front of him. He was, surprisingly, more than a foot taller than it. "Just watch for anything weird."

"Habber Arb!"

Nothing happened for a moment. After a few seconds, the Regirock shifted to view its trainer. Curtis waved his free arm wildly, trying to imitate some attack, all while repeating, "Habber arm! Habber arb!" Eventually, the Rock Peak Pokémon understood the order, and spun around to meet its foe with a surprisingly quick sweep of its arms. Farran was caught and thrown half-way across the arena, where he collapsed in to a neat heap. The Aggron groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet, clutching his side with one arm. Mike now felt like he had some sort of challenge in front of him.

"Again!" The Regirock began to lurch towards its target, but it was noticeably more sluggish this time around. As it shuffled towards the Aggron, Mike gave a shrill whistle. Farran snapped his attention towards his trainer, who pointed at his lizard, then to his own eyes. Farran nodded. Mike began to pantomime the Regirock's Hammer Arm attack, and then imitated the grabbing of something, followed by a spin, and punctuated with a wild swing.

Farran smirked. He knew exactly where Mike was going with this.

"What the he'uh are you doig?" Curtis shouted from across the gym, to no response. The order had already been silently given. As the Regirock approached Farran, it swung its arms around again. Farran threw up his claws, grabbed the arm, and rotated with the force of the punch. As the arm moved, the Regirock did not, and it - surprisingly - was disconnected from the main body.

"Looks like you've been-" Farran began, and Mike buried his face in to his hand. He knew where this was going. Farran kept his momentum and swing back around. The disconnected arm and the stony body were once again rejoined in a shower of rocky fragments. The rocky Pokémon staggered, turned once weakly, and collapsed.

"Disarmed," grunted the Aggron, bellowing towards the fallen Regirock in a show of dominance. Mike could do nothing but shake his head. That pun was absolutely awful, even for Farran's standards. As the Aggron stood grinning wildly at Mike, looking for approval for his terrible joke, the fragments of rock began to put themselves back together. With a rocky grumble, the Regirock rose once more, taking another wild swing towards the back of the metal lizard. Farran was spun around by the force of it, just in time to narrowly avoid an overhead Hammer Arm. The stone arm clipped the tip of the Aggron's helmet, bending a few inches of the point at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

"Supuhpowuh!" Curtis' Pokémon gave a great, lunging punch that knocked the Aggron clean off his feet. Farran flew a few yards through the air before he skidded to a halt, ripping up a great amount of tiles and flooring with his back, and finally lay unconscious. Mike did not expect that to happen. He had been strongly hoping for a clean sweep, but then again, the challenger had pulled a Legendary on him to take out his first Pokémon. Curtis was still plugging his nose with his blood-soaked sleeve, but this didn't stop the smirk from showing in his eyes.

"Are you okay over th-there?" Mike called. Curtis vigorously nodded, staggering slightly as he did so. If that blood didn't stop soon, Mike would inform him of his disqualification and get him down to the Pokémon Center to try to get him patched up. But, so long as his challenger insisted…

"Goomba," Mike released his Breloom in to the arena, "Rock-type, keep your distance!" The Breloom nodded, whipping his tail around and launching off one of the seed pods without hesitation. It collided with the Regirock and sent it to its knees. It was obviously already tired, and it took a very long time for it to even attempt to stand back up. Goomba took the risk and darted in close, peppering the rocky giant's face with a flurry of Mach Punches. The Regirock was unable to do anything to protect against the attack, and it collapsed in a cloud of rock powder. Goomba gave a raspy crow of victory as it stood atop the Legendary. Curtis groaned through his sleeve as he returned his Pokémon, causing Goomba to bounce back towards Mike's side of the arena.

"Bre! Breloom!" Goomba croaked with a smirk. He usually wasn't one to gloat, but Mike let him have his moment. After all, Mike wasn't usually one to break people's noses. Seemed like everyone was trying something new today.

"One bore," Curtis spoke, beginning to sway on his feet. Mike gave a shrug, waiting for Curtis to fumble for his next Pokémon. "Gebstone," Curtis spoke, releasing his next Pokémon in a flash of light, "just one bore. Den I'uh forbeit."

A Sableye materialized across from Goomba. Both Mike and his Pokémon seemed to deflate. The Breloom was returned just as quick as he was called out, and Mike began to march across the arena. The Sableye gave him a curious look which Mike made a point not to return. When the Champion finally got over to Curtis, they were both very pale.

"You're d-d-done," Mike stuttered out, "you c-can h-hardly st-st-stay on y-your f-feet."

"What's your probleb," Curtis asked, surveying the champion, "I'b good to go! One bore!" Mike reached out and depressed the button on Curtis' Pokéball, returning the Sableye. He gave a breath of relief when it was finally gone.

"That s-sleeve was wh-white when you g-got here," Mike gently turned his challenger towards the doors. Curtis flinched at his contact, but did not resist it. After a tense moment, Mike gave a sigh. "I shouldn't h-have lost my t-t-temper." Curtis thought for a moment as they began to wobble towards the doors.

"I forbeited when I pushed you, huh?" Curtis removed his sleeve from his nose, looking at the blood that had soaked through the fabric, then returned it to his face again, "I'b… I'b ad idiot."

"W-we're both idiots." Mike attempted a grin, which Curtis attempted to return. Mike slung Curtis' free arm over his shoulder as the doors to the Champion's Room opened, and they made their way down through the complex towards the Center.


	9. 9: Brought to you by the Letter Fist

The press met Mike and Curtis as soon as the lobby doors were opened. What had been sweet, serene silence was suddenly a cacophony of camera shutters and questions. The guard in front of the door immediately began push a path for the Champion and his injured challenger to shuffle through.

"Mike!" A microphone was stuck out from the mob of paparazzi, "will you resign?" Mike pointedly ignored the question, trying to make the path a little larger.

"Curtis!" Another microphone, this one nearly pushing in to the bloodied sleeve of the competitor, "will you sue for assault?"

"No!" Curtis took the Champion - and the press - by surprise, "I got what I deserbed. I stauhted it." Mike felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was one less thing he would have to deal with today.

"Michael, do you think you're doing your nation proud?" Mike turned to find the reporters from the slanderous magazine that Mike detested. He could swear the reporter was smirking. He wished that he could think of something intelligent to shoot back at the reporter, but he knew that he would stutter himself in to a stupor if he even attempted to talk. Relief was replaced by deep regret as he realized just how poorly this would portray his nation. He could almost hear Lance mocking him now. But what he heard wasn't Lance. It was, once again, Curtis.

"Damb proud!" The challenger's comment caught the reporter's attention as she turned to record Curtis instead, "I was bein' a dick. He shouldn't take shit frob nobody. Eben if Silent Battling is cheap." Mike felt his emotions shift once more. Those were the words he was searching for. He shifted Curtis' weight as he pulled him through the crowd, smiling as if he had just had some great victory. Or made some great friend. The nurses finally met Mike and Curtis towards the rear of the crowd and took the injured young man from Mike's shoulders.

"I expect a r-rematch," Mike called as Curtis was ushered towards the Pokémon Center. The lanky teen gave a thumbs up, disappearing behind the Center's counter and through a set of double doors. The reporters began to swarm once more, flashes of light causing dots to dance in front of Mike's eyes as he retreated back towards the first room of the Elite Four building. The guard helped to part the sea of paparazzi once more, the questions pouring in as he struggled past them.

"What will you do about the current Economic crisis?"

"How do you feel about the raising of the training age?"

"Are you and Bertha still an item?"

"Will you sign the petition to legalize marijuana?"

"Why have you left the region in favor of Kanto?" Mike had nearly made it to the door, but turned at this final question. At least two cameras were focused on him. Whatever he did next would be broadcasted live. Several microphones were poised, waiting for a comment from the Champion, waiting for anything. Mike felt his legs begin to shake underneath him as he tried to quell his nerves. He was going to answer this one.

"Hoenn is my home," Mike spoke slowly and clearly, and the crowd immediately became quiet, "I have always loved it. I w-will always love it. I will be here when my region n-needs me, and I will accept any and all challenges, despite my t-travels." Mike straightened himself up a bit, surprised by his own eloquence. He took a moment to steady his legs, then continued, "I… Want to be the very best Champion that I c-can be for you all. But I also want to be the best Trainer that I can be for the entire n-nation. I have learned a lot in my t-training, and now I wish to share it w-with as many people as I can."

"Ever going to see a therapist about that stutter?" Mike locked eyes with the she-devil reporter. Even the other members of the press cast her dirty looks as the Champion tried to make himself disappear again. He sorely wished he was a Torkoal. With that last blow to his ego, he turned and started to work is way back up the League building. He entered Sidney's room, making sure the door was closed behind him with a push. He wasn't surprised when a jab of pain shot through his right hand. He'd broken his knuckles a few times while he was training Goomba and Farran in the finer arts of punching, so he figured he would be fine.

"That was fuckin' amazin'!" Sidney gave a crowing laugh, catching Mike from behind and shaking his shoulders, "I ain't never seen you come out of your shell before! What brought that about? I haven't seen a cleaner punch in my life!" Mike turned around with a forced grin, trying to push his way past to the next room. But Sidney wasn't about to let that happen.

"I gotta at least shake your hand, mate," Sidney grabbed for Mike's - thankfully - uninjured hand and began to pump it vigorously, "I'm a firm believer in positive reinforcement, and that deserves some! You've always been such a shy thing, he must'a pissed you off somethin' awful! Does Kanto do that to everyone?"

"It must," Mike offered weakly, "because it's starting to wear off." Mike pried his hand away from Sidney and started heading towards the next room. Then, in one fluid movement, the champion spun on his heel and began to march right back to Sidney. There was something he forgot. Careful to use his left hand, he fished in his pocket for his cell phone. Sidney's eyes lit up.

This procedure continued as Mike made his way through the Elite Four building. Phoebe already had Mike's number, of course, but offered up her own praises. Mostly for Mike's show of courage than for the actual punch itself. Glacia did the opposite of Phoebe, punching Mike's number in to her touch screen phone with pursed lips. She obviously didn't approve of Mike's actions whatsoever, but still offered him a small congratulations on the 'victory'.

It was Drake's room that Mike had been fearing. He took a deep breath before he even attempted to open the door, but the door swung itself open. Mike looked up to the elderly trainer. He found his lack of shirt disturbing, but otherwise respected the man. There was a short, tense moment where neither of them seemed to even breathe.

"Are you coming in, or what?" Drake's gruff voice spurred Mike along, and the elder moved out of the way to allow him inside. Mike didn't even want to bother to ask if he had a cell phone. He just wanted to get to his Bungalow and attempt to coax Babe in to teleporting him back. He had some sort of feeling that the familiar Bungalow setting would be enough to aid Babe in repeating the long-range teleport. That, and the Champion's jet was parked in Viridian, or otherwise airborne and returning to Hoenn.

"Break your hand?" Drake cut through the Champion's thoughts, but otherwise made no motion to hinder him. Mike turned cautiously, absently rubbing his hand. His middle knuckle gave a pang of protest. It must have been visible in his face, as the dragon tamer started to move for his room. A panel in the wall slid back at his approach, and he returned after a moment with a roll of gauze, what Mike could assume was a metal tongue depressor, and a small can of some sort of spray. Mike knew better than to protest, and extended his hand as Drake approached.

The elder quietly went to work, straightening out the champion's fingers with minimal protest. Mike had to bite his lip hard, however, when Drake started to push on his knuckles. After a few moments, Drake broke the silence again.

"What's that red little dark-water Pokémon again?" The grumbled question caught Mike off-guard, but he had the answer after a moment or so.

"Carvana-Ahhh-ahhh-aaaahhhh..." Just as Mike had blurted out the answer, Drake had pressed his knuckles incredibly hard. Mike had punctuated every jolt of pain with an extra syllable. However, there had been a soft, satisfying, slightly gross 'pop', and the pain had greatly subsided. Drake couldn't help but smirk as he looked over Mike's hand. After a moment, he bent the metal wafer at a few angles, then pressed it in to the palm of Mike's hand. He began to wrap the gauze around the metal and fingers, then the rest of his palm and wrist.

"So," Drake cut the silence once more, tucking in the loose end of the gauze, "what did we learn today, Mike?" The elder's gaze met Mike's as he shook up the can. The Champion felt as if he were some small, insignificant trainer in his eyes. Which, of course, is what he was. Drake was perfect Champion material, and had been Champion many times before. And yet, Mike was technically his boss. Mike didn't take too long to dwell on the odd concept for too long.

"Uh," Mike offered, realizing that his train of thought had gone awry, "don't lose my temper?" There was a fresh rush of guilt as Mike tried to make himself shrink. Drake just snorted at this.

"That's a boring lesson," the elder spoke, coating the gauze in a thick shell of some sort of fluid, "grab a Pokéball and jam it in your palm really quick." Mike did as he was told, enlarging Farran's Pokéball and pressing it in to the gauze. After a few seconds, Drake gave it a sharp twist and removed it. The shell had already hardened, and he had a perfect indent for chucking his teammates around. Farran was returned to Mike, who returned him to his belt. Drake grabbed the tattered hem of his coat and wiped Mike's pinky and ring fingers free of the stray residue, as well as his thumb.

"Don't lose your temper," Drake repeated, "bah. Trainer's need that spark, that fire. And if it means we're stupid sometimes, so be it. Some random beatnik calls you fat, you pop him one, he'll never do it again. If anything, he learned a better lesson today: Mind his own fucking business."

Mike thought it made him sound a lot more bad-ass than he actually was. Sure, it was exactly what he had been going for, but it almost seemed to not be his style. He was shy, and stutter-y, not bold and 'bad-ass'. This day had brought out some strange, new side to him. He didn't think he was quite ready to accept that.

"Well," Mike asked after a moment, trying - and failing - to figure out a good lesson for himself, "what lesson, then?" Don't take shit from anyone? Be yourself? Having near-bipolar mood swings and attitude shifts is alright?

"Aim for the gut." Mike's mouth dropped open slightly at this. Drake just shrugged and continued, "getting winded sucks for them, and you're highly unlikely to break something in your throwing hand. And you won't get arthritis so soon, either."

"But I j-just dropped a guy," Mike protested, "you aren't… You don't think that's d-disrespectful, or something?"

"Did he touch you first?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"And mocked your technique?"

"Well, that's-"

"And called you a fat-ass?"

Mike didn't respond this time, instead shrinking in to his hoodie. Drake gave a grunt of disapproval.

"If I weren't so old, I'd still be busting noses," Drake continued, "respect is a huge part of training. If someone can't learn respect, sometimes you just have to beat it in to them. Now, don't you give me that look," as Mike, indeed, had given Drake a look of slight fear, "you must have popped your Pokémon a few times for acting out. And your daddy must've popped you a few times for acting out, too."

"I don't," Mike hesitated, rubbing the rock-hard gauze on his right hand. Drake cocked his head slightly, obviously waiting for the words that probably wouldn't come.

"Your step-daddy, then," Drake guessed. Mike was grateful that he didn't have to say it. He feared he would have stuttered in to a coma. "He must've cuffed you a few times."

"Only once," Mike conceded. Drake gave a smile.

"Sometimes that's all someone needs. And they often make the best people, too." Drake wiped the grin off his face, turning to put his supplies away. "Not that I'm saying that beating anyone is the right thing to do, hell no. Violence shouldn't always be the answer. Sometimes, however, it's just necessary. I got popped once or twice by my pa. Hell, I even popped my old man once. My fair share of trainers, my starter, lots of dragon-types need a rough hand. Now, you aren't a scrapper like me, but you seem to understand that a good whuppin' has its place in training."

"Caito," Mike began, but felt he needed to explain, "uh, my Ninetales, he tried to kill another trainer's Pokémon one time. And I p-popped him in the mouth." It felt so awful to admit. He had struck his Pokémon before, sure, and he knew many trainers who had. And, to be honest, Caito was probably his most respectful Pokémon. He remembered the moment vividly. Caito's eyes had never been bigger…

"Don't tell me you feel bad about that, do you?" Drake asked, obviously having seen the look on the young man's face. Mike felt _awful_ about it, sure, but it had definitely worked. Caito never tried to kill any Pokémon ever again. Even when hunting, he would return the prey alive for someone else to finish off. As bad as it seemed, it had worked. Mike could only shrug.

"It's never right to hit anyone," Drake stressed, testing the toughness of the impromptu cast with a flick, which made a definitive click in the temporary silence.

"But sometimes it's just…" Mike couldn't believe he was admitting it, "necessary." Drake gave a silent nod.

"Now that's a proper lesson," Drake put a hand on Mike's shoulder and spun him around towards the final set of doors before the Champion's Arena, "give your hand at least two weeks to rest, then at least get a center to check it out. The spray is tough and fairly water-proof, but fairly brittle."

"Thanks, Drake," the man in question gave a grunt as if to say 'you're welcome' as he pressed a button on the wall, allowing Mike to walk up through his arena and on to the path towards the bungalow. Babe was released as soon as he hit the dirt path, and they began to teleport back up the path. Mike would wait until they were in the living room to attempt to coax Babe in to teleporting the long distance again. However, as soon as they made it inside of the bungalow, they were outside of Professor Oak's lab again.

"What the _fuck_?"

Mike nearly had a heart attack. He had gripped his Grumpig's paw so tightly that he squealed in pain. Mike instantly released his paw and turned to face his suddenly reckless Pokémon, purposefully ignoring the old woman across the street who was giving them a disdainful glare.

"I can explain," the Grumpig began. Mike wasn't really listening, however, and began to pat himself down to make sure he was all there. The Grumpig just stood there, sheepishly waiting for his trainer to ensure how complete he was. When Mike was satisfied that his finger nails were just as long as they had been before, he turned his attention back to his Pokémon. The intensity of his stare caused the pig to cringe.

"I don't understand how it works," the Grumpig began, "but when we got back in the bungalow, there was some sort of…" the pig paused, searching for the right words as Mike searched for the right Pokéball, "it was like… a shadow. Some weird sort of hallucination. I just… I knew exactly what to do. I knew where to go, and how to teleport there."

"Like a space-time rift?" Mike was trying hard to care about what had just happened. Mike was fine with teleporting to a familiar place, but the Grumpig - according to him - had just made a dangerous long-distance teleport to an unfamiliar area. Mike would have at least liked to have convinced him to do it with certainty, instead of the willy-nilly event that just took place.

"Hypocrite," the Grumpig spat. Mike returned him. They would argue later. He swept his team back in to his pockets, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and made his way back around the corner. He took a deep breath before he re-entered the building. He was a budding trainer again. He had just taken an hour or so to grab his bag, and hopefully he would just play catch-up to the youngsters that had already left. And he only had a Poliwag.

"Shit," Mike began to fish in his pockets for the right Pokéball. Unfortunately, he had three plain Pokéballs now, and the only distinguishable one was Farran's dented device. He chanced that the cleaner, scratch-free orb belonged to his new 'starter' and placed it on his belt. Regaining his composure once more, he pushed the doors open to a peculiar sight. The small group of trainers were surrounding Professor Oak in a tight circle. In front of them was a projection screen, the video on it being rewound. The only thing Mike could properly make out was a large logo in the corner: BN. The Battle Network.

"Oh, no," Mike spoke, standing in the doorway with his arms holding the doors. He was dumbstruck. He couldn't move if he had wanted to. Except for his knees, which began to violently tremble.

"Now, to reiterate," Professor Oak spoke to his class as blood flew back in to a lanky, blonde teenager's nose. He resumed the video at the point where Curtis first touched him.

"This is improper conduct for a battle," the Professor was clearly audible over Curtis' accusations and Farran's growling. Mike watched his stoic form, noticing that his hands had been white-knuckled fists since Curtis had begun to besiege him with accusations.

"And this is _very_ improper conduct for a battle," Mike took his point-blank punch on the screen, causing everyone in the room to cringe when it connected. The actual Mike's hampered hand tingled with a hint of pain. The Professor rewound the video again, nobody seeming to notice as Mike eased the doors closed behind him.

"This is where the challenger probably forfeited," Curtis pressed his fingers in to Mike's chest in the video, and Mike gently rocked with the pressure for a few moments before he swung again. The challenger hit the ground hard as Mike shook out his hand. The class, again, collectively recoiled from the screen. And yet, they were absorbed in it.

"This is where the challenger _definitely_ forfeited." The Champion couldn't help but notice a touch of pride in the Professor's voice this time around. The tape rewound again as Mike approached the group, which still paid him no heed.

"Challenger used 'Taunt'," The video played again. For a third time, the word 'fat-ass' was punctuated with a powerful pop to the nose. The crowd "ooh"ed this time around.

"Champion used 'Mega Punch'." The Professor was the first to notice Mike, turning to him with a smirk as he rewound the video a final time. Mike thought he could try one this time, and cleared his throat. The group of trainers turned from the screen to him, but Mike motioned for them to return their attention to the screen.

"Goodbye newbie trainer Michael Michaels," Mike watched as Curtis once again riled him and his Pokémon up.

"Hello Hoenn Champion Michael Almus," Even if it was cheesy, Mike had timed his delivery perfectly, as his on-screen delivery punctuated his point perfectly.

"I knew it!" crowed a familiar, female voice from the crowd of trainers. The rest of them began to murmur energetically, casting him every look from dumbfounded to wildly excited. He couldn't help but grin down at them. Maybe being known wouldn't be so bad after all.


	10. 10: On the Road Again

Short, sweet, and very late. Updates are going to become erratic, as college is starting back up.  
>Also, if I wind up liking the idea, the next chapter should be a nice surprise.<p>

* * *

><p>The sudden popularity put Mike on the spot. For about thirty minutes or so, he had been shyly avoiding the whispered questions he was asked as the Professor gave some sort of final lecture. He liked to imagine that they were all simply very obvious ones, but in truth he had thought that he was getting too much excitement in to him for one day. All asked about his team, many asked about his hand, some even asked about his own journey. Mike simply shushed them, waiting for Professor Oak to reach the climax of his speech.<p>

"So, for those of you too distracted by our guest to pay attention," the Professor smiled in Mike's direction before returning to the class, "there is only one real 'lesson' left: the practical application. It's a two-day march to Viridian, if you leave at dawn and don't camp until dark. You will all have one week to make it to Viridian, pick up your Pokédex, and return here to have it activated and registered. This should be ample time to judge whether you can really live as a Pokémon Trainer, and how well you and your starter work together. Any questions?"

Mike raised his bandaged hand, much to the surprise of the crowd.

"Yes, Michael?" Even the Professor was curious about this.

"What's the weather look like?" Professor Oak blinked at him, completely drawing a blank. Late winter to spring was very mild and very wet in Hoenn, but Mike would like to know how he would fare with his hooded jacket and jeans as his only protection. So far, Kanto had been fairly chilly for his usual liking. The elder pulled a phone out of one pocket and a pair of glasses out of another, pushing the touch-sensitive screen and scanning it after a few moments.

"March 4th, sunny, 62 Fahrenheit," the Professor rattled off, "besides it getting cloudy around Thursday, you should be home before a wet weekend," Professor Oak removed his glasses and pointed them at the class, "which should be all the more incentive to hustle! By the way, Mike," the Professor looked up to see Mike counting on his fingers. Hoenn was on the metric system, and Fahrenheit was proving hard to convert. It didn't help that math was not his strong suit.

"… Seventeen Celcius?" Mike looked up, unaware that the Professor was attempting to converse with him. The elder nodded, pocketing his phone as he continued.

"Brilliant question," Mike shrugged at this, grinning, "my winter quarter this year actually got rained out for a week, and that was the day after I sent them on their merry way. Great foresight. You would think that more people would ponder-"

"Can we get on with it, then?" the snooty red-head cut through the Professor's reminiscing. The Professor shot him a look of contempt before ushering all of the students out of the lab. Mike could sense that the young irritant was tap-dancing precariously on the Professor's last nerve. Michael hung at the back of the pack of trainers as they descended the hill towards the edge of the small town, preferring the company of the elder. Kaitlyn, too, hung back, but more for the company of Mike.

"Who is that kid, anyways?" Mike asked aloud, not caring who answered. Professor Oak merely snorted, but Kaitlyn quickly responded.

"Rodger something-or-other," the girl replied, "some fancy name with a number after it."

"Spoiled to the core by his uncle," Professor Oak added, "it's a shame, too. Dratini are hard to come by, and he gets to ruin one."

"Show some f-faith, Professor," Mike spoke, smiling at his elder.

"You can call me 'Samuel'," Professor Oak smiled back.

"Sam alright?" Mike looked forward towards the gathering of trainers and various adults,

"Sure." conceded the Professor. Kaitlyn, who had been walking a short ways in front of them, turned to walk backwards and posed a question.

"Sammy?" Kaitlyn smiled up at the old man.

"Don't you have parents to pester?" Professor Oak made a purposefully grouchy face this time, shooing the young lady away. She giggled and began to leave, but something occurred to Mike.

"Wait," he called after her, "I don't know your n-name!" True enough, as Mike had only seen her name on her test. She stopped, turned back to the two older men, and extended her hand.

"Kaitlyn O'Reilly." Mike placed his bandaged paw in her tiny hand, and she pumped his arm a bit harder than he expected, "sometimes Kait, _never_ Kaity."

"Pleasure to m-meet you, Kait." With that, she sprinted off down the street towards a pair of parents. Straightening himself up, he returned to match the Professor's stride as they approached the group of children and parents. Tearful goodbyes, small hugs and the pecking of cheeks created a cacophony of loving and caring sounds. Enough to warm up a Snorunt, as Mike's mother would often say. And he did remember this. His mother was so worried, and his step-father was puffed up with pride. They hugged him, and congratulated him, and stuffed extra underwear in his bag… He would later come to appreciate the extra underwear. He had a Wurple for a very brief period, in which it devoured most of his clothing, so the underpants had been an Arc-send.

Mike was jolted from his reminiscence by something he hadn't expected. A small voice, somewhere in the crowd. The end of a conversation from a confident child to a worried parent.

"It's okay, mommy. Mike's here! A Champion!"

"Mike? You mean Michael Almus?"

"Yeah! He's a champion and he can punch and fight and everything!"

There was a brief moment of disbelief while the champion processed this. Not the idea that he was a teacher, that was an idea that he was somewhat comfortable with. Nor the idea that he was a fighter, as the proof was probably recovering in a Center bed a few hundred miles from here. No, it was the idea that he was now a caretaker. He was a shepherd to the flock of Mareep in front of them, and if any of them were to come to any sort of harm…

"Are you alright, Mike?" The Professor shook him slightly, bringing him back around to reality. Which isn't exactly what he wanted. "You look like you've seen a Gastly."

"I-I-I'm r-r-r…" Mike cleared his throat, trying to force out the right words, "R-responsible for ev-ev-everyone here…"

"What? No, you're worrying too much."

"No, no, no-no-no," Mike backpedaled slightly, realization and responsibility dousing him like a bucket of ice water, "they are g-g-gonna get h-h-h-hurt."

"They aren't going to get hurt-"

"All trainers get hurt!" Mike held up his bandaged hand to punctuate the point, "and I'm gonna get the b-b-b-bluh…"

"Just calm down," the Professor turned him towards the tall grass at the edge of the town behind them. For a moment, they just sat there, staring at the waving grass. Occasionally it would rustle, a Rattata would pop his head out, a Pidgey would take to the air. The sharp call of some larger bird rung out through the spring calm. Mike took a deep breath, his good hand finding his pocket and reassembling his team at his belt. The Professor's hands stayed at his shoulders, keeping him from turning around to the chatter behind him. His team assembled at his belt quite nicely, save for his new pal. He rolled the starter in his hands briefly, looking from the serene grass in front of him and down at the orb. A new start. A new water-type, even. He wasn't a babysitter, he was just along for the ride. He _was_ the ride.

Regardless of what Lance wanted, Mike was making this a fresh run. This was a brand new adventure, and like hell he wouldn't challenge the gyms. But he would do it right. He would only use his new team, his new friends he would meet here. And along the way, he would teach anyone he felt like. Silent Battling was an innovation. It was his baby. Something he wanted to proudly raise up and show to the world. And he would, via this new team. Suddenly, he was struck with a new, exciting idea: He could be Champion here, too. It actually made him nervous, it made him frightened in all of the right ways. His mind began to spin off in wild scenarios, proudly sitting in a chair in Lance's office - if he had an office - and boasting two titles. The grass was a sea of adoring fans, the calls were that of his new team, wild formless shapes in the distance of his mind's eye…

"Feeling better?" The Professor brought his dreams of grandeur back down to earth. It was such a wild feeling. It was truly like he had started over again. And yet, Mike knew that he couldn't be champion. Mike knew that his place would either be in Hoenn's League or out exploring everything he could. But it was very, very nice to dream again. With a deep breath of relief, he had one more small realization: he was carrying an illegal amount of Pokémon.

"Yes, actually, but," Mike plucked a Net Ball from his belt, placed Mac on the magnetic disc, and took one of the hands off his shoulder. He pressed the Net Ball in to the wrinkled palm before continuing, "this is Floater, my Gyarados. He really enjoys white meat, like birds and stuff. And loves spicy food, too. Can I, uh, leave him here? Can you look after him for me?"

"Will it keep you from having another panic attack?" The smirk didn't exactly set Mike at ease, but he definitely felt better when he pocketed the sphere. Mike and Floater had a strange relationship, and he actually felt a little better that he was in the care of a Professor now. Mike was a big eater, but he simply had a horribly difficult time with keeping a Gyarados happy. And the _training_…

"Yes, actually," Mike returned the smirk with a grin, "Thank-you, Sam." Then Mike noticed a difference in the grass in front of him. There was a ten year old plowing through it. And then another. It was as if they all decided to leave at once. Waving hands shot up as they went, and a chorus of goodbyes ferried them away. One of the kids actually thumped Mike quite hard as he passed, and a head of red hair disappeared in to the thick grass in front of him.

"Come _on_, Mike!" A familiar girl rushed past him, a brow ponytail whipping around as she turned to look at him. "We only have a week! Let's go, Mike-Mike!"

He didn't have to be told twice. Mike actually burst in to a somewhat impressive sprint for his size, pounding down grass in seconds and leaving Kaitlyn to trail behind him.

He was back on the road again, and the road felt _good_.


	11. 11: Impeccable Timing

The bad news: This is really late. I blame college.  
>The good news: I haven't forgotten about you guys<br>The better news: This will be even better in the morning, when I can edit it.  
>The best news: It's super long.<br>**EDIT:** Added a decent amount of information to everything after the campsite was set up, and fixed a lot of typos. I felt it warranted the chapter being re-updated, so that everyone knew of the changes. They are fairly important. Well, at least, to me. They made it more believable as well as adding clarity. Anyways, I added a line where the major changes are. Enjoy!

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><p>The thrill of adventure wore itself down soon enough. Mike's legs swung in to a steady rhythm after his sprint and stayed there with startling consistency. Faster than a normal walk, but not by much: a well-practiced trainer's march. Many of the other trainers had decided to release their Pokémon and jog ahead, either by themselves or in groups of two or three. Rodger had released his Dratini and marched off alone, the tip of a blue tail being the last that they saw of him or his Pokémon. Kait's shorter legs had her keeping up a good pace next to Mike, and their Poliwag waddled around at their own leisure. Mike couldn't help but notice that Little Mac was certainly little compared to Kaitlyn's blue tadpole. Both of the Poliwag were legless, however, which made them miserably slow at worst and tolerable at best. Their trainers would often stop and urge the little things along, until finally one of them got fed up.<p>

Not surprisingly, it was Kaitlyn.

"They aren't even attacking anything!" She had been complaining for a few minutes now, to which Mike had been stoically listening to, but she had only just become loud, "look at them, Mike! They're just derping around back there! Derp derp! I'm a Poliwag!" She squished her lips together and began to waddle as Mike arched an eyebrow. The tadpoles finally heard her and looked in their direction, the larger of the two waddling back towards its trainer.

"They're doing what?" The term was rather foreign. Kait looked at him as if _he_ were rather foreign.

"Don't they have memes in Hoenn? Or do you guys not get internet out in the willy-wax?" Mike looked at her levelly.

"I've been out t-training non-stop for the last eight m-months," Mike spoke, which immediately silenced Kait's whining, "and I n-never much liked computers."

"Liar, nobody hates computers." Kaitlyn's awe was gone, and she returned to her prodding and complaining, "I know you play video games. Little Mac's from _Punchout_, huh? That one is really, _really_ old! But he doesn't even have arms, so it's not like he'll do much punching. I was smart and named mine something relevant. Isn't that right, Dewey?"

"Pli! Poli!" The larger one made a noise that one could accurately describe as a helium-fueled croak as it approached, and Kait reached out and very lightly patted his head. Mike rolled his eyes before connecting them with Mac. He gave a shrill whistle, which made everyone else present jump. The little tadpole simply looked at him, blinking its large eyes. Mike looked back, giving a slight nod as if to say 'yes, Mac, I am whistling at you' before he puckered his lips again. Another shrill whistle sounded, and the Poliwag got the message and began to waddle towards Mike. The Champion smiled and knelt down as soon as Mac was close, showering it with praise.

"Good boy, Mac! You remember to come when I whistle, okay?" Unlike Kaitlyn, Mike was unafraid by the slimy skin, playfully rubbing the little creature under his good hand. It chirped and cooed, not quite able to make all the sounds that Dewey could make, but loving the attention nonetheless. "You know what a whistle is now, right? Whistle," Mike demonstrated, but much quieter. The playful expression vanished from Mac's face, replaced by one of pure attentiveness. After a moment, the tadpole shook his whole body as if to nod, slipping around in his trainer's hands. Mike smiled a little wider, moving back in to another shower of praise, rubbing and scratching the slimy skin.

"It's not a baby," Kaitlyn remarked, but thought for a moment, "Well, uh, is it? Mine's three months old, and about as big as a Poliwag usually gets. Yours is teeny tiny, how old is he?"

"About t-ten weeks, according to the lab," Mike shooed Little Mac off in to the grass, and Dewey immediately followed him, their tiny feet slapping dully against the ground as they went. "Go fight something, you two!"

"You really think they understand us at that age?" Kaitlyn continued her walk, and Mike followed, nodding.

"I bet the l-lab assistants talk to them all of the t-time, to foster early recognition," Mike explained, "and even if they don't understand, it's better to start t-talking to them early. Gives them ample time to learn." Kait huffed at this and crossed her arms.

"Well, they aren't exactly learning how to fight, that's for sure," Kait complained, "are you sure we should just be letting them run around? Shouldn't we keep them close so we can sick 'em on the first Rattata we see?"

"Rattata, you mean." Kait gave him the same outlandish look from before.

"It's Rattata. Ruh-tat-uh. Quit being a know-it-all."

"I s-swear to Arc it's Rat-ah-tah."

"I suh-swear to Arc you're annoying! And," she wiggled her head in a mockingly playful fashion, trying her best to imitate Mike's natural sound, "your accent is silly." Mike rolled his eyes at this, but she continued, "anyways, so long as one of them sprays a Ruh-_tat_-uh out of the grass pretty soon, I guess it doesn't matter. Or even a Pidgey."

"You mean Pee-shay?" Kait thumped him on the arm as he chuckled, and they continued on down the path. Every so often, they would catch the end of a purple tail darting away, or a Pidgey being disturbed by their Poliwag and taking to the air. Half an hour passed. Then an hour. And still no obvious sign of their Pokémon battling anything. As the sun began to lazily drift further east, maybe two hours later, Kaitlyn finally lost it.

"I haven't even seen what attacks he can do! Where the hell are they!" Kaitlyn reached up and began to pull on her hair. Mike placed his hands on her shoulders, gently lowering her arms away from her scalp. He knew all about being easily frustrated, and silently made an oath to nip her attitude in the bud. Just as soon as he reigned his back in.

"How old are you?" Mike asked rather seriously.

"Fourteen! I've been waiting four years for this, and-"

"Then act your age, _Rodger_." There was a tangible change in mood as Kaitlyn took a deep breath. Her hands returned to her sides and balled in to white-knuckled fists. After a moment, Mike let go of her arms and gave her a gentle push forwards to resume their pace.

"I'm sorry, Mike, I just want to see one _little_ fight!" As if her whining was a cue, there was a wet slap to their left, followed immediately by a purple rat tumbling out of the grass and on to the path in front of them. Kait's fists shot straight in to the air as she withheld most of a squeal of delight. As the slimy rodent staggered to its feet, a jet of foam blew him back off of them.

Both of their Poliwag waddled out of the grass after it. Mac spun around and sliced his large tail at the Rattata in a very slick movement. Literally. The little rat was knocked clean off his feet and had no idea what was going on as the two tadpoles bore down on it. Dewey shot out another spray of bubbles, which the Rattata frantically tried to scurry away from. It wobbled its way over towards the trainers, realized what it was doing, then turned and bolted right back in to Mac and his impressive tail. With a final, wet, powerful smack, the creature was flung in to the air and hit the ground hard, twitching on the side of the path.

"Woo-hoo!" Kaitlyn cheered, running over to Dewey and - hesitantly - patting his head, "you did a great job, Dewey!" The Poliwag croaked its approval, trying to mush itself up in to Kait's hand to little avail. She was thoroughly resistant in getting her hands too slimy, but managed to allow herself to rub her Poliwag's head a little bit.

Mike, on the other hand, had a good reason for not touching Mac. As he approached to congratulate his companion, he noticed that he wasn't in the best shape: red marks where his skin was very slimy, black marks where his skin wasn't slimy at all, and the general heaving of Mac's body as he rested were worrying him. Mike set his bag down next to his friend and began to rummage through the various contents. He must have been fighting a lot out there, probably because most of the wild Pokémon were weak.

"Good job, little guy," Mike whispered soothingly to his team mate, "looks like you've been training hard out there." Mac cooed weakly at him as he pulled a bottle of water and a potion from an inside pocket, almost fumbling them as he clumsily gripped them in his off-hand. "How is Dewey doing," Mike called over his shoulder, turning to take a quick glance at the two.

"Dewey's great! He's got, like, one little bump on his forehead, but he's such a trooper!" Mike could have sworn that Mac rolled his eyes at this, and the irritated slap of his tail against the ground confirmed his suspicions. The trainer chuckled at this, placing the bottle of water on the ground and unwrapping the potion.

"I bet you've been protecting him all day, huh?" The Poliwag gave a vigorous nod, turning to face Mike as he shook up the potion bottle, "now this will sting a little bit, but you'll feel better afterwards. Close your eyes for a sec." Mac's eyes clamped shut tight as Mike coated the Pokémon in a layer of mist. It shuddered at first, but seemed to sink in to a relaxed slouch as Mike finished, leaning back and using his tail as a built-in kick stand. "You know he's the bigger one, right?"

"Wag-po-polii!" The creature was indignant, but definitely proud. Mike could tell he would have fun trying to pick up on his new friend's personality. He was actually tickled pink that the Poliwag understood his own language so easily, and doubly so that he was already trying to communicate back, despite his age. He hadn't expected near-sentience so early on. Mike happily unscrewed the cap on the water bottle with his teeth before he held it up for Mac to drink. The creature gave a small squeal of delight before taking the lip of the bottle in his mouth and upending it, sucking the plastic bottle dry within seconds. It crinkled in upon itself almost completely before the vacuum was finally too strong, and the crackly pop that the bottle made surprised the Poliwag as he dropped it to the ground. It was nearly dry, and Mike upended the last of the water over his teammate before tossing the empty bottle out in to the grass; he loved buying the biodegradable trainer-friendly junk. The creature chirped happily, and he could have sworn that one of the rather large bruises he had was completely gone.

"You heal quick, Mac. Did you like that water?" Mike reached out and rubbed his teammate all over, making sure he was nice and slimy. Mac gave a chirrup of delight at the apparent massage as his trainer, and Mike gave a smile of delight when he didn't find any obvious sore or dry spots on his Pokémon. With a poor - but funny - attempt at wiping the slime off of his hand on to Mac's tail, the champion sent his little trooper back out in to the wild. The wet feet slapped against the dirt right up to the edge of the grass, where he turned around and made a high-pitched - but surprisingly loud - croak to Dewey.

"Hold on, Mac!" Kait was kneeling in front of her Poliwag, a look of frustration on her face as she tried feebly to get an already slimy bandage to stick to her fussing Pokémon's head. "Dewey! Hold still! How are you supposed to get better if you won't protect your bump?" Mike could see that she was working out of her comfort zone: she very clearly didn't want to touch her partner, even though she wanted to help him. And she was trying to put gauze on a slippery Pokémon. For a tiny bump, no less. Mike picked up his nearly empty Potion spray bottle from the ground and approached Kaitlyn's fussing form.

"Don't," she snapped, finally overcoming her resistance to slime to firmly press the strip of gauze over the bump, to which the Poliwag gave a small squeak of pain, "I can handle this! I don't need a potion for a little bump, anyways." Kait rubbed her hands in to the short grass on the ground, giving the Poliwag's bandage a hesitant look. Much to everyone's surprise, it finally stuck to the slime. Until Dewey gave a small shake, sending the bandage straight in to Kaitlyn's face with a wet slop. Kaitlyn gave a short shriek as the bandage slopped down her front and to the ground, which sent her Pokémon waddling away as fast as it could go. And just like that, Mike was left alone with an incredibly upset - and rather slimy - teenage girl.

"You little freak!" Mike felt a chuckle bubble up inside of him and had a very hard time suppressing it as she continued, "this was a brand new shirt! And I was just trying to help you and you _ruined_ it!" Mike finally broke as she wiped a thick layer of slime off of her face and made quite the display of having nowhere to clean it off. Noticing Mike, she marched over to him and wiped her hands down his front without hesitation. Mike just laughed harder, which made her even madder.

They marched in nearly-complete silence for another hour, broken only by the occasional squawks and squeaks of Rattata and Pidgey falling prey to their Poliwag. The sun baked off a good amount of slime from the both of them within that time, and was well on its way to setting. It wasn't long before Mike was subconsciously looking for places to camp. If anything, the campfire would get the irritated Kaitlyn to open up a little bit. Every time Mike wanted to bring up a topic, he would think himself in circles until he found the idea either frightening, offensive, or completely unimportant. But campfires always seemed to bring about good conversation.

"So," Kaitlyn broke the silence between them as they approached one of the many small, steep hills that littered the route, "why haven't you let the rest of your team out yet?"

"All of the Pokémon here are f-fairly small and weak," Mike explained, "and my Pokémon are fairly large and terrifying. The Pokémon would h-hide, and our starters would have nothing to fight." This idea had obviously not occurred to Kaitlyn at all, but didn't stop her curiosity.

"Well, they've been out there goofing around for hours. Let them out!" Kaitlyn reached for Mike's belt, and he swatted her hand away. She made another attempt, seeming to home in on Goomba's relatively normal pokéball and snatching it from Mike's waist. Mike's hand snapped out and stole it back just as quickly, however, and met her slight surprise with a glare.

"You really need to learn some trainer etiquette," Mike commented, rolling Goomba's ball around in his good hand, "don't just try and g-grab someone else's balls. It's impolite." Mike instantly realized what he had said, his poker face faltering.

Kaitlyn snickered openly, which caused Mike to finally break out in to laughter. Content that his lesson would at least be memorable, he placed Goomba's orb in to the dent in his cast and gave it a decent toss. It was actually a rather cool sight to see: Mike had turned his arm in to a catapult, and the Breloom sprang out with a raspy croak of delight. The Pokéball rebounded back to his good hand, and was replaced on his belt.

"Looooom!" Mike smiled as his friend began to bounce around the path, springing up the steep hill as if it were nothing, only to run back down and come to a halt in front of his trainer with practiced ease. One of its arms extended, scratching one of the spore bulbs on its cap, a small cloud of white spores loosing itself. Mike took that as an instruction and began to scratch his bulb with his good hand, which triggered another small puff of spores and a bout of contentment in the Breloom.

"So what is she?" Kaitlyn slowly circled the creature, and Mike saw her eyes constantly looking at the scar on his neck. Guilt welled up in his stomach as he hoped she wouldn't ask.

"He." The Breloom snorted at her, shifting his head underneath Mike's absently scratching hand, "and he is a Breloom. Grass-Fighting, and one of the strongest fighters on the p-planet. I've heard of these things going toe-to-t-toe with Machamp and coming out on top. Goomba's actually done it _twice_." He felt the Breloom swell with pride underneath his hands. He should know better than to feed his ego, especially after the thing had taken down a Regi, but he didn't mind a little showing off to a newbie.

"Bullshit."

"Swear on my life," Mike started their pace back up again, the Breloom plodding along next to them as they made their way around the side of one of the world's tiniest cliffs. Kaitlyn began to ask questions about the foreign creature, which prompted Mike to begin to yammer on about the physiology and training methods for the grassy fighter. Said fighter took this moment to wander off in to the grass, taking short hops through it. Mike was always so impressed that his Pokémon knew how to flush out his opponents, but this time, Goomba wasn't looking for opponents. From the corner of his beady eye, he spotted one of the blue creatures that stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the grasses. He was accompanied by a second, smaller creature of the same hue. With a tiny smile, Goomba knew who he was looking at: the new guy.

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><p>"Popopo!" The bigger Poliwag croaked out the order, causing the smaller one to shoot out a thin stream of bubbles at a soggy Pidgey in the next clump of grass. The Breloom snorted: he was so easily dominated. It was something that Mike would ease him out of in time, but Goomba had other plans. He made his way in to the small clearing, observing the feeble bubble attack from the new blue thing as he sized up the both of them. They were very, very young.<p>

"Bre." The bubbles dribbled down to nothing at the raspy voice, and both Pokémon looked to their superior. The interruption wasn't taken kindly to by the larger Poliwag.

"Po! Popopo!" the smaller one looked back to his superior as if he were insane, but still turned back to face down the Breloom. It was then that Goomba noticed something peculiar: There was no fear in the smaller one's eyes. Anticipation, nerves, self-doubt, all of those were obvious. But the Breloom saw no obvious signs of fear.

"Loom-oom?" Asked the Breloom.

"Lili-po. Poliwag." Goomba gave a nod to Little Mac, who returned the respectful gesture.

"Wag-li," chimed in the larger Poliwag. Dewey, however, was shown no such respect. Flustered, it croaked out another order, "Popopo!"

"Bre." Mac looked between the two of them. Dewey was his superior, but the Breloom was thoroughly intimidating.

"Popopo!"

"Bre! Loo-brel breloom!"

"Popopo-_o_-o-_o_!" With Dewey becoming irate, Mac gave in and shot a weak foamy jet at the Breloom. Goomba jumped over both the foam and the smaller Pokémon easily, before whipping around with an exposed arm and slapping the tiny creature with practiced restraint. It tumbled through the grass and out on to the path, the larger Poliwag letting out a croak of shock. Breloom paid him no heed, bounding out of the grass and after his new team mate. He would learn independence in time, but first he would have to learn the difference between the 'superior' Poliwag and a truly superior teacher.

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><p>Mike heard a squishy thump and a shrieking croak from behind him, turning to see his small Pokémon with a large red welt across his back. Kait turned too, giving a slight look of relief as she realized that it was not her starter. Mike didn't notice this, instead scooping up his barely conscious Pokémon and transferring the Poliwag to the crook of his right arm before wiping off his slimy fingers and pressing them in to his mouth, blowing out a shrill note. A Breloom bounded out of the grass, pointedly looking away from his trainer.<p>

"Goomba, what the hell was that for?" Mike scolded.

"Bre-loo, loom loom bre." The Breloom replied, not at all sheepish.

"So you swiped him?" Kait's mouth dropped open at this. For some reason, this was her confirmation that Mike was just as good a trainer as everyone made him out to be. The Breloom nodded, scowling up at Mike just as hard as Mike was scowling back.

"I am the trainer here, Goomba," Mike placed Mac back on the ground, propping him up on his tail, and slid off his backpack again. He pulled a canteen out of it, checked to see if it was empty - it was - then handed it to Goomba.

"Breloom?"

"Yes, this is your punishment. I haven't seen any signs of water all day. Make sure it's clean, and if I catch you trying to do my job again, I'll have Caito make the fire _extra_ big for a week. _And you'll have immediate vicinity guard duty_." Goomba's eye gave a small twitch of fear, but nothing more. "Are we perfectly clear?"

"Loo-om" The Breloom gave a salute before sniffing the air. After a moment, he bounded off eastward, and Mike pulled another bottle of water out of his bag.

"This is the last one I've g-got," Mike unscrewed the cap and took a swig, "I think Mac can heal using water or s-something like that, so I'm gonna try this instead of a p-potion. Wanna drink first?"

"You can talk to your Pokémon!" Kaitlyn took the bottle from his hands after the exclamation, eyed it squeamishly for a moment, then attempted to dribble an amount from the bottle to her mouth without touching her lips. It seemed like she was used to this practice, but she still dribbled a fair amount on to her shirt. The crust of the slime was suddenly gooey and fresh once more, but she didn't seem to mind, "Isn't it hard to do that? How do you do that? Can _I_ do that?" Mike stretched out his hand for the water bottle, which Kaitlyn provided. Without a second thought he squeezed the bottle empty over the Poliwag. The large eyes snapped open as the pink lips went to work slurping up as much water as he could. Mike whipped the bottle out in to the grass again, which Kaitlyn didn't even bat an eye at, before zipping his backpack up and throwing it on to his back again.

"I can talk to Farran and Goomba," Mike admitted, "because I've known both of them for at least a decade total," he pushed Mac back on to his feet with his toe, spinning him around to check his back. It was still somewhat red, but only just, "and my Grumpig, Babe, is psychic-type. Caito is smart, but Ninetales aren't exactly…" Mike searched for the right word as he wiped some slime from the cast on his right hand, "sentient."

"Sentient?" Kaitlyn asked as they continued to walk, the Poliwag deciding to putter along close behind them, occasionally shooting looks out towards the grass.

"Maybe it's not the right word, b-but…" Mike didn't want to say, 'some Pokémon are not as intelligent as others,' but didn't know a nicer way of saying it. Sure, Caito was a brilliant fighter, but he couldn't compare to Goomba or Farran in terms of intelligence. Caito didn't have a defined language, just barks and yips. When he was hooked up to a translator, the words that came through - if any - were very basic: 'Mike', 'Pokémon', and 'help' were the brunt of his vocabulary. Mike would still give Caito commands, though not nearly as often as his Gyarados. Floater was, as one foul-mouthed trainer had put it, "a genuine trainer-fucker-upper," but seemed to only have a mind for fighting. Strategies would have to be worked on for weeks, and even then just a handful at a time. His Magneton, on the opposite end of the spectrum, actually understood basic computer scripts: a copy of 'Programming for Morons' had Magnus fighting incredibly well within a month.

"You mean, like," Kaitlyn had been mulling the idea over as Mike had, "he can't talk?"

"Kind of. Not all Pokémon are c-created equal." Mike made his way around the steep hill, Kaitlyn and his Poliwag trailing behind him as they went. "Goomba can think like us because, strange as it seems, fighting-types have very powerful b-brains. Usually they use all of their m-minds to memorize lots of different f-fighting styles, but they can get very intelligent with a capable trainer. And Aggron, like Farran, are just plain intelligent. Even wild Aggron have well-developed l-languages, social structures, and concepts of land ownership and diplomacy."

"Wow."

"Yeah," Mike smiled down at the dented Pokéball at his belt, "wow."

Mac was content to follow the two trainers as they made their way further north, which worried Mike slightly. Dewey, even if he was bigger, was out in the grass alone. And Goomba wasn't returning as quick as he had hoped, either. Kaitlyn, as usual, seemed pleasantly aloof to the potential danger of the situation, and after another hour or so of walking, Mike decided he should bring it up.

"Have you seen Dewey?" Kaitlyn gave the area a quick scan, furrowing her brow.

"I haven't in a while," Kait remarked with a frown. Mike watched the worry seep in to Kaitlyn's face as her eyes looked towards the setting sun, "and it's starting to get dark. Where is your mushroom guy?"

"I'm not w-worried about Goomba." Mike pressed his fingers in to his mouth and whistled hard, twice. One blow meant 'return' and two meant 'urgent'. He hoped he wouldn't have to get to three. They heard Goomba before they saw him, bounding through the grass at an alarming pace. The canteen was slung around his neck and clamped firmly in his hands, and he was panting slightly, but was otherwise unharmed. The Breloom offered up the canteen immediately, and Mike gave it a shake. It sounded halfway full, and was still wet.

"Did you just try fill this?" Mike asked. Goomba gave a nod. The lazy little bum. "It doesn't matter, go find Dewey. Poliwag, almost twice as big as Mac. We're setting up camp under that hill over there," Mike pointed to a spot about a hundred yards away, which Kaitlyn hadn't even noticed as she spun her head to look, "and if you so much as-"

"Bre-bre reloo?" Goomba inquired, tapping the middle of the brim of his mushroom cap.

"Yes, actually," Mike was slightly surprised he remembered the injury himself, "you've seen him?"

"Loom lo-oom," the Breloom rolled his eyes and bounced back the way he came. Kaitlyn, once again, was dumbstruck. Mike turned and gave Little Mac a short whistle, prompting the tadpole to stumble up closer to his trainer. The young girl watched the Champion with a mixture of awe and sheer confusion as he made his way towards his predetermined camping spot. Kaitlyn followed him after a moment, just staring at him as he placed his bag on the ground and began to pull out various capsules. The Pokéball-like objects were labeled with masking tape, a particular one labeled 'Cooking Stuff' ejecting the contents of a small kitchen on to the ground in front of him in a glow of blue light. He placed the ball in a large pan before reaching for his regular set of spheres. In assorted flashes of lights and patterns, his team materialized in front of him. Four members of it, at least. Farran stretched his arms wide, as he always did, the creaking and scraping of metal filling the air. The rest of his team took up similar actions: a large Ninetales stretched itself out, arching its back and individually flicking out its tails; Babe stretched his stubby legs behind him, warming up for his odd dancing that would construct the campsite; A Magneton… floated.

"Farran, we need a bench," the orders came instantly and without hesitation, "at least try to find a dead tree this time. No pulling up trees just because you want to take them home. That's a risky teleport. Caito, we need firewood and tinder. Magnus, go-to scan. If hostiles, go-to stun. If help needed, signal, if… blue swirly-bellied tadpole, signal. Babe, you do that voodoo that you do so well. Any questions?"

"Who's the new guy?" Farran looked down at the small, spellbound blue tadpole like it was some strange, delicate curiosity. Which, for the time being, it might as well have been. The rest of the team took notice as well, sans the already patrolling Magnus. Mike snapped his fingers, instantly drawing their attention back to him.

"Introductions at dinner, so the quicker you go, the quicker you'll know!" Mike shooed them off with his hands as the Aggron and Ninetales took off in opposite directions. Babe instantly began to dance, his psychic powers assembling a ring of stones for the soon-to-be fire. Kaitlyn had watched this thirty-second affair in silence. She was just as bewildered as Mac was. Not for the first time that day, they fell in to an awkward quietness, standing around and waiting for something to happen...

* * *

><p>Mike and Kaitlyn both jumped as a tree snapped in the distance. It sounded fairly rotted to the champion, so at least that was going in his favor. He wouldn't have to make an unnecessary trip back to Hoenn to keep a pet tree tomorrow morning. Caito made the next appearance, dropping off a mouthful of tinder near the circle of stones as Babe set up a spit over the ring. Mac waddled towards the pig, who paid it no heed as he began to lay out the pots and pans in a particular order. Farran lumbered in to camp hauling a rather fresh-looking tree behind him, laying it down with a thump a few feet from the fire pit. It was a lot greener than he had expected, but at least it wouldn't crumble in on them.<p>

"Shouldn't you be worrying about Dewey," Kaitlyn asked, taking a seat with a huff as the Ninetales dropped another load of tinder with the first before moving to the end of the tree bench and gnawing off branches for the soon to be fire. Somewhere in the distance, there was the faint snap of electricity. Magnus must have tazed some poor Pidgey or something.

"Isn't Dewey _your_ Pokémon?" Mike hadn't expected himself to say that. Her mouth dropped open in shock, which soon twisted in to anger.

"You- You told me to let him roam!" Well, she had a point. Mike had been trying a new training technique that had worked with Babe months ago, but maybe it didn't translate well to non-psychic Pokémon. Or lab-trained Pokémon. He would be sure to remember to keep better tabs on Mac from now on. Total independence wasn't his best idea.

"I have two of my best out there l-looking for him," Mike conceded, "and with any luck, they will find him before sundown."

"Which is soon." Kaitlyn looked hopelessly towards the horizon in a wide circle. All she could see were the distant, wispy columns of smoke beginning to spring up. "Are those trainer fires?"

"Probably, the wildlife would be p-panicky if it was a grassfire." Mike shifted from his seat to his knees, shuffling up to the fire circle and sorting out the smaller twigs from the larger sticks that Caito was diligently gnawing off of the tree-bench. He made two neat piles with them before turning to face Kait. "Ready to learn?"

"How am I supposed to learn with my starter _missing_?" Despite her worries, she crouched down next to the circle and wrapped her arms around her knees. Obviously pouting, and obviously not listening. Mike, however, pressed on.

"Know how to make a fire?" Mike picked up a few of the bigger sticks and began to snap them down to a manageable size as his assistant glared at them over her folded arms. Placing them in a wide square, he assembled layers of alternating large sticks, before stuffing the empty center with tinder. He adjusted the entire log cabin-esque structure, making it a little tighter, but not at all suffocated. Caito arrived with another batch of dead branches before sitting pointedly opposite of Mike. He reached over the spit and scratched his living tinderbox behind the ears appreciatively.

"Did you see what I did," Mike asked, looking to his unwilling student.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Semi-loose log cabin?"

"Yes."

"Tinder in the middle?"

"Yes."

Mike picked up the entire thing and dumped it in a messy pile in front of Kaitlyn. This finally got her attention.

"You'll have no problem m-making it for us, then," Mike couldn't help but smirk at the shocked expression on the young girl's face as he stood up and dusted off his knees. Somewhere in the distance there was another snap of electricity. Magnus must have taken it upon himself to make dinner.

And then another.

And again. And again. And _again_.

Mike took off with Farran on his heels as if this had been planned. Mike's fears began to realize themselves: there was a blinding flash of light right where he had figured Magnus would be. The signal. But there was no Magnus to be seen. Caito bolted past him and headlong in to a deep patch of grass where the Magneton had been hovering a few moments before. Within seconds, the screams of a young woman filled the air. Mike brushed through the grass and towards the noise, coming in to a small clearing as a loud bang rendered him nearly deaf. A metallic ping was all that broke through his now-muffled hearing.

The screams had been from a young boy, one of the other trainers that Oak had sent out that day. Caito, however, was focused on a man in a black outfit who had a gun shakily leveled in his direction for all of a second. The Ninetales wrapped his teeth around the assailant's wrist and crunched down, the gun dropping to the ground and a deeper scream of pain filling the air. The free hand whipped around to punch Caito hard in the nose, and the Ninetales released in a daze. Mike dove for the gun as the other man did, and he was supremely lucky enough to reach the weapon first.

Mike had never held a gun in his life, and it felt especially foreign in his off hand, but he was able to press it in to the temple of the man easy enough. For a split second, Mike saw pure fear in the hazel eyes that were staring back in to his own. He instantly tried to memorize his face: pale, hair concealed by the hat but he could guess it was blonde from his eyebrows, and hazel eyes. He didn't seem much older than him.

"Give me back my Dratini!" The other trainer was very suddenly courageous, kicking the man incredibly hard in the ribs. He gave another shout of pain as Mike took a quick look around to see where his Magneton had gone. He had disappeared.

"Look, just let me go," the man begged, "I didn't- I didn't-" Mike pressed the gun against his head as he tried to wiggle towards the pokéball, and both Caito and Farran gave intimidating growls.

"Didn't think you would get caught!" Another kick was given, and the man rolled over on to his back. A large red 'R' was on the front of his shirt, another thing for Mike to remember. "a Rocket attacks a relative of a Champion, with another Champion in the area, and he thinks he won't get caught?"

"Shut up," Mike hissed, leaning on his bad hand for a brief moment to try to push himself up. A jolt of pain caused him to drop the pistol from his shaky hand, which the man immediately grabbed up. Caito, however, pounced before he could level the weapon and gnashed at his other hand, rendering both of them useless and leaving the gun on the ground for Mike to snatch up again. He leveled it at the man, who was thrown to the ground by the furious Ninetales. Mike jumped on him and landed hard, causing the man to let out a wheeze.

"Get his Pokéballs from him," Mike ordered to the trainer behind him. There was no hesitation as the boy stripped several Pokéballs from his belt.

"So you're robbing me now," the man groaned, nearly breathless beneath Mike's weight, "fucking fantastic. Both fucking hands are fucking broken, and you little fucks are-"

"Watch your mouth," Mike warned, pressing the barrel of the gun in to the man's temple again, flicking his hat off in the process. Short blonde hair, almost bleached blonde. "Grab his hat, too." The boy did so, using it to hold the pokéballs. Mike looked up to Farran and jerked his head towards the man's feet. The Aggron circled around slowly to the would-be theif's legs, and Mike could feel him shuddering as claws wrapped themselves around his ankles. The Champion pushed himself to his feet as the man dangled by his. Mike brandished the weapon at the man, who flinched. It was only then that Mike noticed that he had his finger around the trigger, which he removed.

"I should tear you in _half_ for attacking my trainer," Farran growled darkly, "but I would want to turn you around first so I could see the look on your face as I-"

"Farran," Mike barked, motioning with the barrel of the gun in a circle. Farran roughly rotated the man so that he was the right side up with his arms pinned to his sides.

"Are you gonna kill me," the man deadpanned, "cause I'd rather you do it than fucking psychopath Arch-"

"We won't kill you," Mike had thought about it, though, a fleeting idea that scared him slightly, "but we're keeping these Pokémon with us. What's your name?"

"Fuck you." Farran squeezed the man hard, who began to groan, "Michael! My name is Michael Almus!"

"Bullshit," Michael hissed, nodding to Farran who resumed his squeezing, "you heard that on the Battle Network. Don't I look familiar to you?"

"What kind of idiot gives a fake name to the person with that name?" The boy remarked behind him. Mike knew that voice.

"I know, right?" Farran spoke incredulously, squeezing the man even harder. He let out a shout of agony as one of his ribs broke with a loud crack.

"Fuck! Jonathan! My name is Jonathan! Jonathan Cristoph-aaauuugh!" Mike nodded to Farran again, who relaxed. So did Jonathan.

"Jon," Mike started, lowering the pistol, "do you have any other Pokémon on you?"

"No," Jon replied, "you fucking took them all."

"Any weapons?"

"Switchblade in my left pocket." Mike looked for the safety on the pistol, engaged it, experimentally pulled the trigger - which terrified Jonathan - and placed it in his pocket so he could use his good hand. He reached in to the man's pocket and pulled out the switchblade, pocketing it as well.

"I've got a psychic back at my c-camp," Mike was trying to think of a solution, "we're going to knock you out and teleport you to the hospital in Viridian."

"Knock me out?" The man protested.

"We're helping him?" The question came from both Farran and the boy behind him.

"Are any of these Pokémon actually yours?" Mike pointedly ignored the remark.

"The purple one is mine," he blurted out, "just that one. And it's really valuable. It's my starter."

Mike went over to Rodger and held out his hand. The boy pulled the purple Pokéball out of the hat and handed it to Mike, who looked it over. There was a small 'M' on the front, seated between two pink patches. He placed it in to the man's pocket after a moment, then returned his attention to the criminal.

"Caito, go and get Babe for me." The Ninetales barked before bolting back towards the camp. There were a few tense minutes of silence before the Grumpig appeared next to them, looking up at the trainer.

"What do you want me to do?" Babe asked, looking at the man like he was absolute filth.

"Knock him out and get him to Viridian City," Mike began, "he has a broken rib or two and Caito chewed up his hands and wrists pretty bad. He needs a doctor. Can you do that for me?"

"Do you want to know exactly who he is first?" Mike looked up at the man, who was looking back at him fearfully. His day must have been hellish. Mike's hadn't been much better.

"No," Mike decided, "I'm going to t-trust him. I'm not gonna press charges, either. But who d-do you work for?"

"Team Rocket," the man grunted out, which came as a surprise to Mike, "Giovanni may be gone, but the Rockets live forever."

"And if I ever catch you wearing their logo again," Mike patted the gun in his pocket, "you won't."

Using that as a cue, Babe flicked his hands and the man went limp in Farran's arms. The Aggron dropped him in to a heap as the pig made his way over to him. A second later, and they were gone.

"Nice line," Farran commented with a nod, "no stutters, either." Mike gave a shrug, releasing a breath that he felt like he had been holding in forever. Remembering what had just happened, he began to look Farran over for a bullet hole. The Iron Armor Pokémon turned himself to show some of his back plates. And the large dent where the bullet had ricocheted. "I was on all fours chasing you, so I got pretty lucky."

"Full mobility?" Farran twisted and turned at Mike's question.

"Seems so," the Aggron affirmed.

"I have never seen anything so big move so fast," commented Rodger from behind them. Mike felt his self esteem crash down, but Rodger quickly noticed what he had said, "oh, no, I meant your lizard thing! Honest!"

"You were bookin', though." Farran patted Mike on the shoulder as his Grumpig reappeared in front of them.

"He's at the hospital, I woke him up and disappeared as soon as I made sure he was taken care of," Babe reported. Mike gave him a nod of approval before turning towards Rodger.

"Are you alright?" Mike looked him over. He looked scared, angry, tired, but physically unharmed.

"I'm fine, but why didn't you take him to the cops instead?" Rodger looked at Mike like he was stupid, then verbalized the look, "are you stupid or something?"

"I didn't want t-to ruin his life," Mike admitted, "if we took him to the cops, he would have g-gone away for a long time. Assault with a deadly weapon, theft, attempted m-m-murder…" Mike was very aware of the weight of the weapons in his pocket. "say you made a really bad decision, wouldn't you want a chance to fix it?"

"Well, yeah," Rodger admitted.

"And I gave him his chance." Mike took a deep breath, trying to return his heart rate to normal before he continued, "now, come on, you're camping with us tonight. Don't lose our Pokémon, how many balls are there?"

"Three now."

"Alright, remember that number. Let's get back to camp, then, we'll sort out who belongs to who."

What Mike had felt like he had covered in seconds actually turned out to be a decent walk. It took them five or ten minutes to get back to camp, and the sun had set by the time the affair was over. When they pushed through the last of the grassy bushes, Kaitlyn and Mac were admiring a messy pile of sticks in the fire pit and trying very hard not to look worried. Mac noticed them first, and immediately gave a squeal of joy as he began to waddle his way towards his trainer. Kaitlyn let out a sigh of relief herself, standing up and jogging over to meet them. She stopped a few feet short, noticing the new boy in their company.

"You leave, I hear a gunshot, and you come back with _him_," Kaitlyn folded her arms as she looked Rodger up and down, "what exactly happened that warranted bringing him back to camp?"

"Some Team Rocket guy tried to steal our Pokémon!" Rodger couldn't have said it better. Mike nodded at Kaitlyn's gaping mouth. She seemed to have a habit of doing that.

"But," Kaitlyn fumbled with the idea, "but the Rockets… Red disbanded them months ago, Giovanni even told him-"

"Where I come from, we p-put criminals in to prisons instead of letting them pinky-p-promise ten-year-olds that they won't come back," Mike had just about reached his limit for the day, and was now fluctuating wildly between extreme relief and extreme irritation. But he also knew that naïveté wasn't something to keep for long. According to himself, at least.

"Caito, get the fire going," Mike ordered as he lead the way back to the campsite. There was a coughing bark that sent a spray of white hot embers in to the fire pit, and the kindling caught as the three trainers seated themselves on the log bench. Roger began to explain what had happened before Mike had shown up: How the man had found him trying to set up camp and pulled a gun on him, catching the Dratini with an Ultra Ball at gunpoint, and the Magneton that had shown up and tried to zap the assailant. How the man had moved to pull out a ball before Rodger was blinded by Magnus' signal. Mike took over at the point where he was coming in to the scene. The gunshot, the exchange of the weapon, the body slam, the confiscation, squeezing the man for information, the ridiculous choice of fake name, and letting him have his second chance. Rodger would embellish on the action as he saw fit, while Farran only interrupted whenever Mike had a hard time stuttering out a word.

"And s-so," Mike took the black hat from Rodger, placed it on his lap, and fished out one of the Pokéballs, "we got our Pokémon back from him. And an extra, I suppose. We'll turn it in when w-we get to town." He rolled the first Pokéball around in his fingers. It was a plain Ultra Ball, completely devoid of any sort of markings, and brand new. Mike maximized the ball and held it out to the side of the fire. There was a glow of light, and a serpentine Pokémon took shape.

"Baha!" exclaimed Rodger, leaping up from his seat and embracing his Dratini tightly. The blue dragon squirmed for a moment, obviously surprised, before wrapping itself around its master and resting its head contentedly on Rodger's shoulder. Trainer and starter reunited, the boy returned to his seat on the log.

"Wasn't he in a Luxury Ball?" Mike asked, remembering seeing it at the lab.

"The guy broke it and re-captured Bahamut so that he couldn't be traced back to me," Rodger spoke after a moment, pressing his face in to the blue body of his starter. The Dratini made a content noise that was equally soothing to the rest of them.

"Which explains why they're all Ultra Balls," Mike thought aloud, fishing out the next one. He maximized it and summoned out the contents again, and another serpentine Pokémon took shape. This one, however, was a bit bigger than the Dratini, and began to hiss as soon as it materialized.

"Ekaannsss!" The snake reared up, its yellow eyes catching the firelight. It was definitely doing a decent job of intimidating the group: it was down-right terrifying. The rattle on its tail began to buzz angrily as Mike recalled it and stuffed the ball in to his pocket.

"Must have been that guy's Pokémon." Rodger's words made the gears in Mike's head begin to spin.

"He took his starter with him," Mike spoke, "and it's in an Ultra Ball as well. He probably stole it from one of the trainers earlier today. Did any of them get an Ekans?"

"Nope," Kaitlyn replied with a frown.

"One was offered, I think," Rodger offered himself.

"Well, either way, we're down to Magnus now. Better let him out and explain what happened." Mike took the last ball out of the hat and shook it out. He looked down at Little Mac, who had been eyeing the hat since they had shown up. Mike reached over and dropped the hat on his head. It slid down the Poliwag's back and settled quite nicely over him. Mike thought the paper-boy look suited him. He maximized the last Ultra Ball with a smile, glad to have Magnus back safe and sound.

What he released, however, wasn't Magnus.

"Dewey!" Kaitlyn exclaimed, jumping off the bench and giving the bewildered Poliwag a hug before she could realize that he was slimy. Dewey looked frightened, and thoroughly beaten up. There was even a chunk missing from his tail. As Kaitlyn looked over Dewey to make sure he was okay, a general feeling of unease settled over everyone else.

"That sh-sh-should have b-b… b-b-been…" Mike searched his brain for what might have happened. What could have possibly gone wrong. The purple ball. The purple ball that he had given back to the man.

"What k-k-kind of p-p-pokéball did Jonathan use to c-catch my M-m-muh…" Mike couldn't even force it out.

"I couldn't see it, the thing used a Flash attack right before he disappeared," Rodger exclaimed, "how am I supposed to know?"

Mike put his fingers to his lips and blew sharply three times. Goomba was still missing, too. He didn't want to be three Pokémon down. However, it only took a few moments before Goomba was back. He was all riled up, too: head snapping from place to place, eyes on the move, bouncing from one foot to another.

"Breloom, bre bre loom-loo bre-" Goomba explained, but Mike cut him off.

"Magnus is gone," Mike couldn't believe what he was saying. Or how trusting he had been. "I just wanted you back. We have Dewey. But Magnus- If you saw his signal, why didn't you come!"

Goomba retreated, fearful of Mike's sudden mood swing, "Breloo brel bree!"

Mike took a deep breath. "You're right," he admitted, "you didn't know. But he's gone now! I need you and Babe to go back to Viridian. Find him, get Magnus back!"

"Why aren't you coming with us?" Babe's question made Mike want to recall his order, but he wondered about Kaitlyn and Rodger. Would they be okay to spend the night, alone, in a now very frightening area? They would worry about being robbed the entire night, even if Mike left his team with them. And Mike wasn't going to chase after this guy with only two team mates.

"I have to stay with these guys," Mike said hurriedly, "it's just easier this way. I can't take them all with me, and I would just slow you down. Find that man! He's hurt, he can't have gotten far. I don't care if you have to kill him-" Babe flinched at the idea, while Goomba went rigid with the seriousness of it, "but I want Magnus back. If you can't find him by midnight or so... Just find him, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Babe replied, the two Pokémon making their way towards each other and vanishing as soon as they made contact. Mike immediately began to pace, running his fingers through his messy hair, pulling as if the pain would bring Magnus back. He couldn't believe he had been so _stupid_. He had placed Magnus back in to that man's pocket without a second thought. What kind of Pokéball _was_ that, anyways? Magnus was incredibly strong for how long it had been training. And it didn't even struggle. Mike didn't even notice that he was yelling until he needed to breathe again, completely oblivious to how furious he was or how upset he must look. Kaitlyn and Rodger could do nothing but watch, each one of them embracing their own previously stolen Pokémon and trying to understand his pain.

"Mike," Farran placed his claws on Mike's shoulders, turning him around and pulling him in for a hug. "Babe and Goomba will have Magnus home in no-time," he soothed as Mike pressed his cheek against his cold, smooth stomach, "it was an honest mistake. Being so trusting is what makes you an amazing person."

"I don't feel amazing," Mike mumbled. He didn't feel much of anything at this point.

"But think about how amazing you were today," Farran rubbed Mike's back, gently scratching and gently comforting, "you went toe-to-toe with an armed Rocket."

"With you and Caito's help."

"You _body-slammed_ a guy."

"… Okay, yeah, that was kinda cool," Mike admitted, smiling slightly.

"And you gave him a second chance. Which was incredibly awesome of you, despite what he did with it." Farran pushed Mike away from him so he could look him in the eyes, "if that doesn't say what an awesome dude you are, I don't know what does."

"Thanks, Farran," Mike spoke after a moment, smiling up at his team mate. He reached up and tickled his chin with his good hand before falling in to a full hug.

"Okay, that was adorable," Kaitlyn spoke, causing Mike to laugh, "you two are the cutest things ever."

"Well, the day can't get much worse, right?" As soon as Rodger had said it, both Mike an Kaitlyn began to swear at him profusely. After a few minutes of silence, and sitting in the Aggron's comforting cold grip, Mike finally felt as if they had averted the curse that Rodger had given them.

That was, until his phone rang.

Mike didn't bother to look at the caller as he pulled out the phone, flicked it open, and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mike," Mike felt the blood drain from his face as Rodger's curse took effect. He didn't respond, as any and all expressions he had for the next few weeks had been spent. "Uhm… is this a good time?"

"Yes, Bertha," Mike sighed as he pushed himself from Farran's arms. His entire team, even Mac, was looking at him with worry. "You have the most impeccable timing."


	12. 12: Just like the Good Ol' Days

There will be long delays as I work on this and The 35th Annual Hunger League. My apologies in advance. Also, this one is mostly filler.

* * *

><p>"Bertha?" Kaitlyn wrinkled her nose at the name as she watched Mike begin to walk away. His phone was pressed to his ear and his face seemed absolutely devastated. She had never before seen someone so depressed in her life. She pulled herself away from the slimy Poliwag in front of her and rested her back against the improvised bench behind her. Mike and Farran made their way a fair distance away before the Aggron sat with his back to the fire. Kaitlyn assumed that the young man had taken a seat in front of Farran somewhere, as he was gone from view. She sighed, spreading her arms out along the log so that the slime on her front would hopefully dry up. She found that it would flake off easily enough when it was dry, but Dewey found her outstretched arms as an opportunity to snuggle in to the crook of them. Rodger snickered at this from his perch on the log.<p>

"No, Dewey," Kait gave the Poliwag a push away from her which was met with much resistance, "you're gonna dry out so close to the fire. You need to be, like, way over there," she demonstrated where the Poliwag should be by pushing him further down the side of the log. The poor thing gave her an impressive pair of puppy-growlithe eyes, but she wasn't about to fold. Instead, he found the attention of a very curious Ninetales, who was staring at him like he may do something fantastic at any given moment.

"Isn't Bertha that girl that chewed him out?" Kait turned to Rodger with a raised brow, "you know, after he became champ a few weeks back?" More silence and curious staring. "You seriously don't know? Do you have a video phone?" Kaitlyn nodded, fishing a fancy little touch screen out of one of her pockets and raised it in the air, looking for signal. Rodger waited patiently, absently stroking the Dratini that was comfortably wrapped around him.

"… There's no internet service out here," Kaitlyn concluded, stretching her arm above her head in a desperate attempt to get a stronger signal so she could attempt to watch said video. Her phone buzzed a few times with text messages as a few more bars lit up on the screen, but the bars were gone just as soon as they had arrived. She brought her phone in front of her face, slid out a keyboard, and began to hammer out replies to send later. "I'm listening," she said after a moment.

"Well, he won, and he got downstairs," Rodger began to explain…

* * *

><p>"Okay, go ahead," Mike spoke, leaning up against Farran. He didn't want to have any sort of private conversation in front of Rodger, and found himself wanting to hide his awful love life from Kaitlyn. If 'love' was even an accurate word.<p>

"Well, I saw you on the news, dork," Bertha spoke, sounding like she was proud of herself for some reason. He could hear the smile in her voice as she continued, "everyone said you'd gone to Kanto for real, but I'm on to you."

"Oh?" Mike pinched his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled Magnus' Ultra Ball from the back of his belt. Even though the conversion from matter to energy didn't add any extra weight to the sphere, it still felt oddly light in his hands.

"Yep. So why don't you just zap yourself down to my place, and we can-" Mike could hear the seduction in her voice. It was obviously a trap.

"I'm actually in Kanto," Mike cut her off, "no tricks this time."

"She thinks you're still in-" Farran hissed incredulously. Mike covered the bottom of the phone and shushed his team mate. Bertha sighed in his ear.

"Why do you keep trying to hurt me, Mike?" She sounded more disappointed than hurt.

"Because I get turned on by misery," Mike mumbled, "that would explain my current situation, I suppose."

"The situation where your committed relationship is about to collapse?" Mike actually perked up a little. That was a break-up threat. Maybe he wouldn't have to make that call after all.

"The situation where I broke my hand, went viral again, and got robbed," the Champion retorted. He wasn't positive that his punch had gone viral, but he could be fairly sure that it was on its way. He put the

"You got robbed?" Bertha's tone was less concern, more disbelief, "You. _Champion_ Michael Almus. Got robbed." There was a rush of static as she sighed, "well, what's the damage?"

"Magnus."

There was silence for a moment.

"What's a Magnus?"

"My Magneton," Mike grumbled, none too happy with her ignorance.

"Oh," she spoke, realization dawning on her, "Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry! And I kinda liked the little green guy." Mike pressed his head in to his cast with a sigh. "What?"

"Goomba is the little green guy."

"Like Mario?"

"Like a Breloom."

"No need to get so snippy about it-"

"We've dated for, what, two years now," Mike exclaimed, but hushed himself down to a hiss when Farran tapped his shoulder, "how do you not know my Pokémon?"

"I know them! Fergus is… really nice," she attempted to recover.

"Farran is the big lizard that you told me I should get rid of because he scratched up the floor."

"Okay, fine, I don't even give a shit about Pokémon in the first place."

"Then why did we even start dating?" Mike felt a very sudden shift in mood as he said this. For a split second, he wished that he hadn't.

* * *

><p>"So, wait, who's fault was it?" Kaitlyn's question hung in the air for a few moments as the two of them mulled the event over.<p>

"Mike must have done something stupid," Rodger pointed out, "but I have no idea what it was. It must have been pretty bad for her to snap at him on TV like that."

"Or she's just a huge bitch," Kaitlyn added. Rodger nodded at this and tried to uncoil the dragon Pokémon from around himself. Kaitlyn continued, "I'd never do something like that in front of a camera unless my boyfriend screwed up big time."

"Hah," laughed Rodger dryly, "like any guy would like you." He picked up a stick from next to the fire and began to poke at the embers as the girl next to him gave him a strong enough glare to paralyze.

"I've had plenty of boyfriends!" She exclaimed, brushing some of the dried slime from her shirt. Rodger gave a smirk at this. He was pretty quick for his age. "I, uh, that's not what I meant! I just have experience, that's all." Rodger openly chortled as Kait's face went bright red. "How do you even know this stuff, anyways?"

"I'm eleven, not stupid," he quipped, turning a log over in the fire, "but I bet Mike's some sorta wife beater."

"Well, he's definitely got a mean right hook on him," the girl concurred. Her stomach gave an audible grumble in the ensuing silence. Caito's eyes snapped up from the Poliwag and stared at Kait's stomach as if it had just called his name. Kaitlyn and Rodger both looked at Caito as if he were about to pounce.

"Nine!" The bark caused the other three to nearly jump out of their skins. Kaitlyn immediately worried for Mike's conversation and began shushing it, hoping her stomach wouldn't try to growl again. Truthfully, though, she hadn't eaten since before the test this morning. Her hunger had taken its time in catching up to her.

"Caito!" It was too late. Mike's call had been interrupted.

* * *

><p>"Pain in the ass," Mike hissed, "give me a second." Mike felt as if Bertha had been saved by the bell. Or the bark. He pressed his hand over the phone's mouthpiece and called over his shoulder, "Caito!"<p>

Within seconds, the Ninetales was trying to push himself in to Mike's lap, a surprisingly wet tongue scraping across his cheek. "Caito, down," demanded Mike, causing the canine to back off slightly, "c'mon, that's gross. Slobber later, can you go get some dinner for us? A bird, if you can."

"Nine!" Caito gave a nearly deafening bark before he bolted off in to the grass, his tails snapping in the air behind him. Mike sighed before returning to his phone, pressing the speaker back up to his ear. "Where were we?"

"We were at 'then why did we even start dating'," came a growl through the phone. Bertha was clearly not happy with this statement. Mike felt himself shrink in to his hoodie, awaiting the verbal punishment that was to come. Another sigh hissed through the phone.

"Mike, you've changed," her tone caught Mike off-guard. She sounded sad instead of angry, "you used to be such a nice guy, you know? You used to be this sweet little thing, you were quiet and shy and just wanted to hang out and be around me. Where did that guy go, Mike?"

Mike thought to himself. She sounded so sympathetic, so needy, but her words were not. He was quiet and shy? He just wanted to hang out and be around her? She liked such simple, even detrimental qualities? A familiar rage boiled up in Mike's stomach, but there simply wasn't enough fire to keep it bubbling. He was exhausted from the day, and just wanted her to shut up. The momentary anger melted in to apathy

"That guy must've gotten lost in the wilds," Mike offered as he replaced Magnus' Ultra Ball, taking the phone from his shoulder, "look, I've got two newbies that I'm looking after. I'll be quiet and shy later."

"You'd better be, mister," she cooed. Mike was borderline furious with what she was implying. Shy and quiet? Mike didn't enjoy being shy, he didn't enjoy his stutter, and he was sick of being quiet. He gave a noise of affirmation, however, just to get her to shut up.

"Love you, Mike."

Mike hesitated. She had been furious at him a few weeks ago, and now they were right back to this. The same way that his last romp-without-permission had begun: the 'I-Love-You' guilt trips. Mike slumped further back against Farran's stomach, not willing to return her 'love', but not willing to cause more conflict. A second passed in tense silence. Then another…

"Love you, too," Mike conceded, snapping the phone shut with a sigh. He could almost feel Farran's disapproval, as if it were strong enough to be tangible. It wasn't a good feeling.

"Coward."

"Don't you start with me."

"Pussy-whipped as fuck."

"Watch it."

"As."

"Don't you dare. Farran, I swear to Arc-"

"_Fuck_."

Mike pushed himself up out of his Aggron's lap, returning him before any further protest could be made, and marched his way back to the fire. Caito chose that moment to reappear, a rather fat Pidgey squirming in his mouth. Caito, true to training, never killed.

"I'm sorry," Kait said quickly as Mike held out his hand to receive the soggy bird, "we didn't mean to interrupt your- Holy shit!"

Mike had twisted the Pidgey's neck with no remorse, the small bird instantly going limp in his hands. His eyes were unfocused as he went about cleaning the Pidgey without so much as a 'hello'. Feathers fell to the ground as he methodically stripped the bird clean. Everyone had been silenced by his action. Rodger was borderline terrified. Mike couldn't help the smirk when he thought about it. Rodger must have been trained prior to Professor Oak's classes at some point, and yet he was apparently squeamish when it came to something so trivial as fresh food. Wait a minute, who had trained him? He had said something earlier, something about being the nephew of a champion.

"You are terrifying when you want to be," Rodger broke the silence a second before Mike was going to. Mike gave a hollow laugh.

"Yeah, s-sure," Mike replied, "say, you s-said earlier something about b-being a Champion's r-r-relative?"

"You didn't know?" Kaitlyn butted her way in to the conversation, "he's Lance's nephew."

"Fucking wonderful." The words left Mike's mouth before he could restrain them to just thoughts. But when Rodger recoiled instead of making some sort of aggravated comment, he pressed on, "I had one of my most well-trained Pokémon stolen, my bitch of a girlfriend decided now was a good time to call me, the press was already going to hound me like nobody's business and now I have to make sure you're safe and fucking sound or else Lance is going to kick me out of the country." Mike took a deep breath, let out a sigh, and turned to Kaitlyn, who was closest to his bag, "give me a knife."

"You didn't stutter."

The comment hung in the air for a moment. Mike blinked at her, not exactly sure of what to make of the comment. It was true; for the first time in a long time, Mike strung together sentences directed at people without stuttering. He could talk to his Pokémon fine. He had known his Pokémon for ages, and they weren't people. Bertha was in a similar circle; they had grown up together, and she was hardly what Mike considered to be a person. Mike furrowed his brow. Why would anger allow him to talk straight? What use would that be? With one last rip, the feathers were gone from the Pidgey, and Mike was back to brooding depression. Kaitlyn and Rodger looked at each other with apprehension as the deflating champion looked over the naked bird in his hands. Cato merely drooled.

"J-just give me a kn-knife."


	13. 13: The Pokédex that Anyone can Edit!

Mike didn't sleep that night. He had gotten frustrated with his cast and got a fair amount of Pidgey blood on himself trying to clean the bird, and with the added worry, regret, and guilt that the day had brought, he was too worked up to sleep. Kaitlyn and Rodger had just stared at him squeamishly as he bled, stripped, gutted, and prepared the bird. They, however, picked it clean. Caito had gone an brought back two or three more, Mike hadn't bothered to keep track. He didn't have to cook these, as the rest of the Pokémon either scrounged around for their own particular food or ate the birds raw.

Mike quietly stoked the fire for hours. Rodger passed out relatively quickly, curled around his Dratini and snoring softly. Kaitlyn had tried to force some conversation from the Champion, but he wasn't having any of it. She gave up shortly after Rodger and tried to sleep, but her Poliwag wanted to sleep next to her.

"No, Dewey," she hissed, pushing him away with the tips of her fingers, "you're too slimy."

"Oh, cuddle the d-damn thing," Mike called, reaching over a hand to his own Poliwag and scooping him up. There was something powerfully therapeutic about being able to hold a pokémon in his hands. He realized that he hadn't held one of the little monsters in his arms for a very long time. He had evolved Caito too quickly to have any bonding with it - which, in hindsight, was a bad idea, as premature evolution usually made the pokémon less smart than properly evolved specimens - and it had been ages since the rest of his team were small enough to hold. And Farran had always been wicked heavy. To have the slimy, smiley tadpole tucked in to the crook of his arm immediately began to ease away his stress.

"I don't know how you handle that," Kaitlyn commented, ignoring the jealous cooing of her own Poliwag, "they can just be so gross sometimes."

"… Pokémon?" The idea that pokémon were gross was almost appalling to Mike.

"Just the slimy ones," she gave Dewey another prod, "or the poisonous ones. Don't give me that look, would you cuddle a Muk?"

"N-no, because the p-Pokédex is actually right ab- about that one."

"Wait, what do you mean by that?"

Mike gave a sigh and adjusted his position a little better, Mac snuggling in to his arm with a soft gurgle. "The Pokedex that st-standard trainers get can be edited b-by anyone, and the most popular edit is usually what sh-shows up. Each r-r-region is a bit different, and many of the entries are rumors. The Pokedex, of c-course, holds true info on s-species you own, and is an invaluable tool with l-lots of neat apps, but the public encyclopedia bit is kinda s-silly. Hit-and-miss at best."

"So, you mean…" Kait mulled over this information for a moment, trying to find an example. Her eyes wandered over to the Ninetales snoring gently in to the fire, and she found it, "Ninetales aren't incredibly intelligent and magical?"

"Caito isn't qu-quite so bright because I evolved him r-really early," Mike explained, "but his species isn't sagely or anything. The tail-pulling thing has some truth to it, though: it drives them insane. They unl-leash everything on whoever is dumb enough to d-do it."

"... What about Gyarados?"

"False, but great cautionary information. Gyarados can be taken d-down by a decent lightning strike, but they're still f-fierce. They may have destroyed a few villages made of p-paper doors and dry wood in ancient J-Japan, but nowadays Gyarados can be neutralized quickly."

"And what about Aggron? Aren't they territorial and just big tree-planting sissies?" She gave Mike a winning grin that he couldn't help but return.

"Want to ask him that?" Kaitlyn giggled as Mike pulled out Farran's dented Pokéball. After a momentary silent smirk, he answered the question, "completely true. Farran's claimed the cliff that the ch-champion's bungalow is on all for himself, and plants loads of trees from all over Hoenn there. It's actually k-kinda cool, but not all Aggron do that. Usually only after a d-disaster. And they only mercilessly pummel obvious threats to their lands, l-like reckless humans and other Aggron. And even at that, they give fair warning."

"So are you, like, a guru or something like that?" She gave him a curious once-over: slimy, bloody, injured, yet completely content.

"I'm a three-time Champion. You tell me." They shared a grin, and for a split second, Mike felt his worries wash away. He was right: He was a Champion. And, though not the most humble thing to admit, he was a bit of a guru. His knowledge of Pokémon was rather fantastic, though limited by the native species to his region. And her smile was almost like a cherry on top. Deep in Mike's chest, a heartstring was tugged. It had been a while since a girl had smiled at him sincerely.

Within a few minutes of the ensuing silence, however, Mike was back to his usual, quiet, broody self. Worries, guilt, and depression resumed the weathering of his very being. Wave after wave of fresh, hormone-fueled feelings battered at him for what seemed like an eternity before something broke his silence. When Mike had confirmed that it was Mac's stomach grumbling in his sleep, he briefly returned to his woes. A belch brought him back out of it.

"Pokémon are disgusting," Kaitlyn mumbled from her odd position against the log.

Rodger farted a few minutes later, and Kaitlyn's groan of anger brought a chuckle to Mike's lips.

* * *

><p>"Dear Arceus, I hardly slept." Mike raised a brow at Roger's complaint. If anyone had slept, it had been the ten-year-old. Not a care in the world, not even a call to his good Uncle Lance. Pokémon safe and himself blissfully ignorant of the pain the robbing had brought. Mike was the one that should be complaining. More than half of his team were either missing, being babysat, or stolen. That, and when Mike had began to prep coffee and let Farran out for some air, the glutton had gobbled up his kettle. The pot he was using now was just fine for boiling water, but Farran had still been disciplined.<p>

"At least you aren't running gassers!" Farran huffed his way back to the campsite, touching his hand to a line drawn in the dirt before turning and thumping back towards a tree in the distance.

"Gassers?" Kaitlyn asked with a grin.

"He runs to the t-tree and touches the roots," Mike explained, "then runs back and touches this line. He d-does that twice, and that's one gasser."

"Brutal."

"You could stand to do a few of those." Kaitlyn shot Rodger a dirty look as Mike sunk his head in to his collar. "What? It's true. I mean, you're almost popping out of those pants, muffin top."

"Ex-_cuse_ me?" Kait rounded on Rodger and had him in a headlock before he could react. Dewey gurgled with delight as the Dratini began to make noises of worry. They only scuffled for a short amount of time before there was the 'snap' of a poor teleport, and two very tired Pokémon fell to the ground. Mike turned to face the new arrivals with hope, but the fact that there were only two of them didn't raise much of it. They were both exhausted, but thankfully not injured, and the Breloom was even lively enough to hop off after Farran and ask for the translator.

"Anything?" Mike asked. The Grumpig was clearly irate. Goomba's voice crackled to life behind them, and was equally agitated.

"He disappeared, we talked to the same officer and he acted like it never happened." The mushroom Pokémon hopped back over, pressing the translator to his throat and forcing himself to speak, "I saw some of them smirk as we left."

"They were Rockets, all right," Babe filled in, "but most of them picked up when I tried to make a connection. Not the entire town, but just enough to make that man vanish. Chief of Police, mainly."

"That doesn't even make sense," Rodger commented, "that's, like, Saturday-morning-cartoon villainy. A guy doesn't just disappear!"

"A Rocket that was recently arrested for a high-profile crime that was turned in to a crooked chief of police might, however," the Grumpig growled, "also, who was previously Gym Leader of that quaint little burgh?"

"Giovanni," Kaitlyn commented, the pieces having long since fallen in to place for her. Rodger, too, began to connect the dots.

"And you think a n-notorious crime lord would live in a t-t-town with an efficient police force?" Mike's point put complete silence to any arguments Rodger may have had. "It just means I h-have to get there quicker. I m-may not be Kanto's ch-ch-Champion, but I'm still a government official."

"Technically," Rodger pointed out.

"And you're technically a huge jerk," Kaitlyn snipped, "which is odd considering how tiny you are."

And so their day continued in this fashion. Mike returned Farran and Caito, allowed Mac to roam, and kept Goomba and Babe close by his side. Rodger would make fun of Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn would make fun of Rodger, and Mike would simply watch and try to glean any sort of information he could about their training styles whenever their pokémon were near.

Rodger took a much more active approach, commanding his Dratini as if he had been training with it for years. Mike had no doubts that he had been doing so. But the Dratini was just as direct as its trainer: There were no grand strategies or evasive tactics for the few moves that slipped passed his obviously well-trained starter. The hits simply landed and the Dratini would shrug it off and blast the poor critter away with a lightning bolt or a sweep of its tail. Mike wasn't a teacher yet, but he already had a feeling that Rodger would be both a powerful trainer and incredibly hard to re-train. If being direct had worked for his life this far, he would think it would work for everything.

Kaitlyn, however, was very indirect. Almost to a point of ignorance. Dewey was often left on his own in fights, besides Kaitlyn's excited chatter if he was winning or slight scolding if he was losing. "The one with the bubbles!" became a token call for 'Bubble', and, "slap 'em!" was a codeword for what Mike could assume was 'Double-Slap'. He had to chuckle at her half-hearted attempts at strategy, but she was still doing more in that department than Rodger was doing. She ordered dodges and tricky movements very frequently, even going as far as ironing out an 'Oil Slick' attack involving a bubble-generated slide and a quick slap in to the mud. Though she still wasn't touching him much. Mike was afraid that the lack of contact would stunt him somehow, but the tadpole was content for now.

They set up camp some hours later, everyone being completely exhausted, but somewhat excited by the amount of ground they had covered in a day and a half. From their hilltop campsite, they could see the small Viridian City. Mike, however, could only see the barren nest of a scorned mafioso.

"Is anyone's phone charged?" Mike snapped his dead phone shut with a tinge of irritation. Besides a purposefully ignored text from Bertha, he had been gleefully uninterrupted. Usually, vacant Champions had swarms of challengers attempting to force an easy win by absentee forfeiture. They didn't know that Babe was now a multiple-thousand-mile teleporting machine, but they did seem to be scared off by his anger management issues.

"On the verge of death," Kaitlyn sighed as she hammered away a text to a friend of hers, or so Mike guessed, "ask pea-brain."

"Uncle Lance said it's only for emergencies," Rodger pulled a Pokégear from his pocket, "and it only has his number in it."

"That's actually what I n-need," Mike took the device from Rodger when he offered it, pulled up Lance's number, and hit 'CALL'. It rang for a few moments before an oddly warm voice filled his ear.

"I knew it was only for emergencies, but it's good to see you do care a bit-" Mike cut Lance off before he could proceed any further.

"This is Mike, did any news make it to you?" There was a pause before Lance answered.

"What have you done to my nephew," the cold question came off more as a statement, but Mike was unperturbed.

"Saved him from an attempted mugging and turned the Rocket in to the Viridian City authorities," Mike's underlying anger mixed with a sudden contempt for the Kanto Champion quite well: his voice was smoother than marble. "You heard nothing?"

"Apparently not," Lance sighed, "is he alright?"

"He's fine, but I'm short a member." Farran laughed, though the phrasing was lost on the rest of the camp.

"You had a Pokémon stolen?" Mike moved himself away from the campsite slightly, leaving Farran to prepare the various small game he had rustled up before he continued.

"My Magneton. He said that his weird purple Pokéball was his starter, and slipped me his actual Rocket companion."

"Did it have a little 'M' on it?"

"… Yes, actually, is that bad?"

"Very. It was a Master Ball, I'm not at all surprised you didn't recognize it. They're incredibly rare and illegally engineered to capture any Pokémon, any time, without fail. Silph produced them in incredibly limited qualities, but the Rockets and the Silph Company have always been close friends."

"So, the Rocket guy with the Master Ball," Mike returned to the subject, "I had Babe transport him to the closest Police Office."

"And you turned him in to probably the most relaxed police agency in the region," another rush of static, "you knew that Giovanni used Viridian Gym as his safe-house, correct?"

"As well as the Celadon Game Corner, Silph Company Head-Quarters, wasn't there a department store in Johto or something?"

"Not enjoying your tone, very un-champion-like."

"I'm sorry, I just had a Pokémon _stolen_ and assumed that you would be able to do _something_ besides-."

"Well, what do you want me to do? You're the one growing out his brass balls here. I half-expected vigilante justice to be your follow-up to 'I had my Pokémon stolen' and not you calling me- When did this even happen?"

"Yesterday evening."

"A full day later? He could very literally be anywhere right now. Probably being lauded as a hero for stealing a-"

"I _get_ it," Mike growled, "It's day two and I'm already coping with enough as it is. I don't need to be personally attacked for my decisions, I'm doing enough of that to myself already. I need help."

"I told you not to come to Kanto," Lance replied evenly, "that was my help to you."

"If you want vigilante justice, I am _more_ than capable," Mike felt a rush well up inside of him at the sheer darkness of his tone. Farran looked up from the bloody, poorly-prepared Pidgey corpse, blood dripping from his claws, and the Champion's adrenaline gave another surge.

"This is _my_ region, and I will _not_ have you running around maiming every suspicious person you see," Lance was slowly beginning to lose his cool at Mike's insubordination, "I will personally investigate this first thing in the morning. You are over-extending yourself and your power. And let me inform you, simply because your Pokémon are clever enough to fight on their own - and yes, your Pokémon are brilliant, I will give you that - doesn't make you the strongest, or the smartest, and it certainly does not make you the reigning authority of the Kanto region." Lance took a breath, obviously waiting for a response from Mike, but it never came. With another sigh, he continued with much more control, "I love that you are coming out of your little shell, and I am not trying to stifle your growth in the right direction as you stumble awkwardly through the hormonal and emotional problems of puberty, but you are a guest in _my_ region. _I_ will investigate this tomorrow. If you are in the city then, I will let you know anything I can find out. I'm a strong trainer, but I've hardly got any power to change how our law enforcement operates. Or how it doesn't. Maybe your little loss will finally open up some eyes."

"Not the headlines again," Mike finally spoke, though it was with a groan.

"Yes, the headlines again. Nice punch, by the way. Very clean." Mike had no idea how to feel about that comment, but Lance had already continued, "do not be the hero, Mike. The Rockets are on the defensive. They may be above killing a ten-year-old boy, but you look a lot more like an adult, and they have no qualms with that. Now, may I talk to my nephew?"

"Yes, sir," Mike returned to the camp, handing the Pokégear to Rodger, who gleefully accepted it. "Would you get that bird on a spit already?" Farran fumbled with a long stick as Mike barked at him, but Kaitlyn was completely unfazed. Curious, even.

"Do you just choose when to stutter, or something?" Mike felt blood rush in to his cheeks as he turned to face the young trainer. She was kind-of right. No stuttering, once again. Mike fumbled for an answer for a moment, making a few awkward noises before his team leader came to what could only be called his 'rescue'.

"I actually got him figured out," the Aggron called as he placed the skewered bird over the campfire, "he's a nervous wreck except for, like, three things: talking to Pokémon, talking when angry, and talking to Pokémon Trainers while he's defending himself."

"Basically, only when it actually matters to him." Everyone turned to look at who had issued that comment. Babe gave an indignant short and returned to his odd dancing, the spitted Pidgey rotating slowly as he did. The realization hit Mike a lot harder than he thought it would have, even if it had been… A compliment about being selectively eloquent? An insult about not knowing what really mattered? The ideas spun wildly in the Champion's head as he slumped back against one of the rocks that had been dragged to the campsite. Rodger, who had been yammering to Lance for some time now, finally hung up the phone to find the atmosphere of the camp had radically changed. Kaitlyn had been planted awkwardly in her spot, her question answered but still left speechless. Caito snuck over next to Mike, pressing his nose under Mike's hand. Babe danced methodically as Goomba glared at him in contempt, and the Poliwag were withdrawn for the night after a long day.

"Why don't you quit moping and just go catch another one?" Rodger's incorrect assumption triggered another radical mood swing in Mike.

"Remind me to break _your_ nose when you turn eighteen."


End file.
